


Conventionally Yours

by Songbirdsara



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anime Conventions, Bad Parenting, M/M, Misunderstandings, POV Alternating, Pining, Underage Drinking, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2020-12-24 05:25:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21094115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Songbirdsara/pseuds/Songbirdsara
Summary: Yuuri Katsuki is fascinated by charming young artist Victor Nikiforov when he encounters him behind an artist booth at a convention.Nearly two years later, with a table of his own, Yuuri gets the chance to meet his hero.Well.You all know how the saying goes...But is there more to Victor's prickly exterior?





	1. Never Meet Your Heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks! Welcome to my 2019 Angst Bang project! It will feature art by the incredibly talented R-Tengu, which will be coming soon! 
> 
> ***
> 
> This story takes a lot of inspiration from my own experiences tabling at anime conventions over the last decade. It's a crazy world and a strangely tight-knit community. I've met many of my closest friends through conventions!
> 
> I'll try to keep everyone up to date on everyone's ages as the story progresses, but for this chapter: In May 2012, Victor is 19, Yuuri is 15. After the jump to January 2014, Victor is 21, Yuuri is 17, Chris is 19. For the most part, characters retain their canon age differences, though (when he finally appears) I have shrunk the age difference between Yuuri and Phichit by one year.

*****May 2012, Rosemont, Illinois*****

Yuuri bumped into Takeshi’s broad back as the older teen came to a sudden stop, transfixed by the booth ahead of them. 

“_Whoa… _” Takeshi breathed out, drawing Yuuko’s attention up from her phone. Yuuri shuffled around his friends, catching a glimpse of the wares that had caught Takeshi’s eye. He couldn’t help the tiny giggle that escaped his throat. Yuuko was less amused. 

“Are. You. Serious?” she asked with deadly calm, her gaze fixed on the buxom figures printed on the body length pillows. 

“What? I’m just admiring the art!” Takeshi protested, wincing when Yuuko smacked his bicep before pushing her way through the crowd and heading further down the aisle. 

Yuuri was choking on his laughter now, avoiding Takeshi’s glare as he moved to follow Yuuko past the rows of mass-produced souvenirs as they neared the Artists’ Alley. “Takeshi wants a _ waifu_,” he finally managed to snort out in a teasing sing-song, earning a shove from the larger boy. Yuuko glanced back at them, rolling her eyes before continuing forward. 

“If you two idiots are _ done_,” she drawled, “I want to look at the art, like we’re _ supposed _ to be doing. You can drool over anime boobs later.” She fixed her glare on Takeshi before stalking towards a booth touting an original comic series. Yuuri couldn’t help a tiny smirk, earning him another shove before Takeshi trailed after Yuuko. 

Shaking his head, Yuuri turned away, drifting towards a small crowd surrounding a table across the aisle. Nudging his way through the cluster of teens, he finally found what must surely be the source of the excitement. Laid out neatly on the table were adorable prints and framed original sketches of a fluffy cartoon poodle, mixed in with a handful of clever interpretations of some of the more popular anime series. The crowd was buying an even mix of the artwork, eagerly handing their cash off to…

_ Him. _

The artist was in his late teens, blue eyes bright and sparkling as he smiled up at the girl currently paying him. His hair was long and fine, an unusual shade of ash blond that sparkled almost silver in the fluorescent lighting of the convention center. The older boy glanced over at Yuuri curiously, and he suddenly realized he’d been standing there staring at the artist for quite some time.

“Would you like to buy something?” the silver-haired teen queried politely, watching Yuuri with a soft, heart-shaped smile. 

“Oh, ah, um...” Yuuri scanned the table frantically, snatching up one of the cute poodle prints in a panic. “This please!” he yelped, part of his mind noting the way the artist’s smile widened. 

“Of course! Would you like me to sign it?” 

Yuuri stammered out an affirmative, passing over the cash in exchange for the signed print. The artist’s hand brushed against his and he flushed, backing away hastily, his prize clutched in his shaking grip. 

_ Victor N _(̨̡ ‾᷄♡”)̧̢ was scrawled in the corner of the print. 

_ Cute _, he thought, though he’d have been hard-pressed to explain if he meant the print, the signature, or the artist. 

*****January 2014, Columbus, Ohio*****

Yuuri nervously straightened the tablecloth covering his rickety, convention issued table, trying not to feel too anxious at the slim glass wall at his back. The Alley was situated in a balcony overlooking the Exhibitor’s Hall, and he couldn’t quite shake the fear that he was going to somehow topple backwards over the wall and onto the sword dealer’s booth that was already blaring music below him.

Probably not the best mindset to start the weekend. 

Still, he couldn’t help a twinge of excitement as he perused the activity in the hall. It had taken nearly two years, and dozens of applications, but he finally had his first convention table. Well, _ half _ of a convention table. The six-foot space was split very carefully between his and Yuuko’s work: her bright, photo-realistic still lifes and portrait-commission samples clashing slightly with Yuuri’s manga-inspired comics, buttons and prints. Two stacks of handmade business cards were placed neatly at the front of the table, hopeful slips of paper emblazoned with their names and fledgling websites, waiting for passers-by to be interested enough to take them. 

Somewhat to his surprise, one such passerby appeared to be standing there now, glancing over the spread of artwork with an approving nod as he ticked something off on the clipboard clutched in his hand. 

“Ah, is… everything alright?” Yuuri asked hesitantly after exchanging a wide-eyed glance with Yuuko. 

The young man raised an eyebrow, glancing up at Yuuri before his hazel eyes widened in delight. “Oh, yes, everything is _ quite _alright, sweetheart. Are you Katsuki or Takahashi?” 

“Oh, um, Katsuki. Yuuri Katsuki. And this is my best friend, Yuuko Takahashi.” 

The other man, who appeared to be a year or two older, grinned as he extended his hand to both of the young artists. “Christophe Giacometti, _ humble _ Alley volunteer. Believe me, the pleasure is _ entirely _ mine.” 

Yuuri giggled nervously at the man’s flirtatious tone. Yuuko elbowed his side with an exasperated sigh. “Sorry, Christophe. This is our first time in the Alley, I think Yuuri was just curious about the clipboard?”

“Ah, yes, sorry, loves. Just checking over your delightful wares. Mr. Karpisek wants to be quite thorough about our _ no fan art _ policy here in the Alley, but there doesn’t seem to be anything to worry about with you two! All original, hmmm?”

“Right!” Yuuko chirped, “but isn’t that kind of an unusual policy for an anime convention?”

Christophe shrugged languidly. “Hmm, perhaps. Fan art is quite popular and there are a good many talented artists who produce lovely works, but our higher ups decided to focus on original work in our Alley. But if you’re looking to pick anything up, there are several well-known fan artists down in the Exhibitors’ Hall!” 

“Oh, ah, no, no, that’s alright!” Yuuri stammered, flailing his hands in front of his face. “I was just curious!”

Yuuko hummed, then smirked conspiratorially in Christophe’s direction. “Guess that means Victor won’t be up here with us, then, hmmm?”

“Oh ho, Nikiforov fans, then?” the tall blond exclaimed. “No, a shame, but Vic hasn’t tabled here in years. He used to be an Alley staple, but…” he trailed off delicately. 

Yuuri found himself leaning in from across the table. “But…?” he queried breathlessly.

Christophe grinned brightly down at him. “_That_, darling, is a story for later.” He raised a dark brow, stark against the contrast of his bleached curls. “Perhaps after the Alley closes, you might join a few of us for a little hotel bash tonight? We can gossip then! I think you’d enjoy it.”

Yuuko reached for Yuuri’s hand under the table it, squeezing it tightly. “Oh, we’d love to…but…my boyfriend is here, too. Um, can he join us?” 

Christophe’s grin widened as if he found something terribly promising in Yuuko’s innocent words. “Oh, yes, I insist, you _ must _ bring your boyfriend. I’ll make sure to keep our _ dear _Yuuri company.” He winked broadly, then suddenly glanced over his shoulder, catching a glare from an older bald man standing behind the Alley Ops table. “Goodness, how time flies when you’re having fun! I’ll pop by later with details, hmmm?” Before either artist could respond, the Alley volunteer had twiddled his fingers in a farewell, brandishing his clipboard as he moved on to the next table.

Yuuko bounced at his side as Yuuri watched Christophe leave. “Ohhhhhmyyyygod he _ likes _ you!” she squeaked under her breath. Yuuri slumped over the table, fidgeting awkwardly with the tiny rainbow pin that he’d nervously affixed to his cardigan that morning. His friends and family in his little neighborhood on the northern outskirts of Detroit had been supportive (and largely unsurprised) when he came out last year, but he was still a little nervous outside of his home town. Still, being flirted with _ quite _ so blatantly by another boy was something of a novel experience. 

“Sooooo, do you want to go to this party?” Yuuko asked innocently, her phone already pulled out, Takeshi’s contact info on the screen. 

Yuuri fidgeted nervously, tugging at the cuffs of his sweater. “I mean… maybe? It’d be nice to meet some people but…we promised to behave…” 

Yuuko rolled her eyes. “Oh, c’moooonnnn, Yuuri! It’s a bunch of convention volunteers and amateur artists. There’ll be, like, Smirnoff Ice and a bottle of some shitty, flavored vodka. How bad can it possibly be?” 

***

The answer, as it turned out, was _ kind of bad_. Yuuri leaned against the window, nursing a slightly warm bottle of something overly sweet as his eyes flickered anxiously over the crowded room, desperately looking for either Yuuko or Takeshi. 

“Here, darling, try this instead. Nobody should be forced to tolerate such mediocrity.”

Yuuri blinked up in surprise as a cold drink was pressed into his free hand. Christophe smiled down at him, sipping calmly at his own drink as he waited to see if Yuuri would take the offered beverage. He looked over again to the dark corner where Yuuko and Takeshi had disappeared and, throwing caution to the wind, closed his hand around the cool plastic cup. He took a judicious sip, pleasantly surprised at the tart, crisp taste. 

“You struck me as a gimlet sort of fellow,” Christophe offered with another teasing grin, hazel eyes darting over the crowded party. “Now, tell me why a talented boy like you is hiding off in a dark corner. I’m sure half the people here are dying to get to know you.” 

Yuuri shrugged, reluctant to talk, but feeling like he owed some sort of social dues in thanks for both the invite and the drink. 

“Bad first day, love?” 

Another shrug.

“Let me guess. A lot of folks stopped, looked, offered their praise, took a card, then walked away without buying anything?”

Yuuri finally looked up, nodding cautiously before taking another sip of the drink Christophe had given him. It had gotten to him, the way so many people had passed by without a glance, the way the few people who had stopped had so often walked away without making a purchase. Only a handful of his prints had sold, and he knew Yuuko hadn’t fared any better.

Christophe chuckled. “Classic. It’s only been a few weeks since Christmas. Most of the people here are high school or college students, which you probably already noticed.” He paused, winking conspiratorially at the younger boy. “Folks are going to be a little cautious with their money on the first day of the Con. Don’t take it to heart. I was at your booth, you’ve got serious talent, ah…Yuuri, was it?” 

He blinked, surprised at the genuine kindness in the words. “Yuuri, yes. Um, thank you, Christophe.”

The taller boy laughed, his hazel eyes twinkling. “Please, _ cher_. My friends call me Chris.”

*****August 2014, Baltimore, Maryland*****

“Fancy meeting you here, darling!” purred a deep voice from across the table. Yuuri perked up, exhaustion fading at the excitement of finally seeing a friendly face.

“Chris!” he cheered, forgetting for a moment to be embarrassed at his exuberance. The older teen had become a good friend in the months since their encounter back in Ohio. And speaking of Ohio... “Shouldn’t you be manning your Convention recruitment booth?” 

Chris waved a negligent hand. “Plenty of volunteers, darling. I’ve got more free time than I know what to do with.” He nudged his hip onto the edge of Yuuri’s table. “Fancy a booth babe?” 

Yuuri rolled his eyes, having grown used to Chris’s flirtatious mannerisms. “As if you’d actually be able to focus long enough to make a sale.”

Chris laughed, a full, rich sound that echoed despite the crowded space. “So, you’ll text me if you need a bathroom break?”

“I suppose I can trust you with that,” Yuuri laughed. “Thanks, Chris. It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise, love,” Chris crooned with a warm smile. “And, ah…I hesitate to point it out for _ entirely _ selfish reasons…but you know that _ he’s _here, hmm?”

Yuuri bit his lip, trying to hide his blush. “Oh, _ ahm_, Victor Nikiforov, you mean?” 

Chris eyed him knowingly. “Yes, _ doll _ , Victor. Or _ Nikiforov Arts _ as he’s apparently listed in the program now. They’re a bit less strict in the Alley here when it comes to table content.”

Yuuri felt himself bristling at his friend’s barely veiled censure. “Victor’s talented, he deserves to be here.”

Chris blinked down at him in surprise. “Didn’t say he wasn’t talented, darling. In fact, I’m one of his biggest fans. Just… I miss his older work, is all. If I can be blunt…you’re adorable and deliciously talented, but I think the first thing that drew me to you was that you remind me a bit of his early work.”

Yuuri could feel the blush as it colored his face. “_That’s… _ _ I don’t… I mean…_”

Chris chortled softly at his friend’s confusion. “Oh, sweetling, I didn’t mean to make you nervous. Vic’s a good friend of mine, you know? I’m just being honest is all! I think it’s charming, honestly, your little fan worship.”

“That’s, I’m not, it isn’t like that…” Yuuri spluttered, much to Chris’s amusement. 

“Of course, darling. So I suppose you don’t want to come to the hotel party I’m hosting? Victor’ll be there so I’m sure it won’t interest you…”

Yuuri glared from across the table. “I don’t even like you anymore.”

Chris merely smirked at him, shifting his hip into a more comfortable position on Yuuri’s table. “Con hotel, room 406, 10:00 p.m.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes. “Fine. But you get to provide the alcohol.”

“Deal.”

***

Not for the first time that day, Yuuri found himself desperately wishing that Yuuko had been able to make the trip up to Baltimore with him. Costs were higher without his tablemate, true, but the down hours when traffic was slow were a lot lonelier without someone to talk to.

Although, if Yuuri were to be honest, he’d have to admit that the down hours weren’t nearly as bad as they’d been back in Ohio. He’d had a steady trickle of people stopping by his booth.

A surprising number of them even bought things.

He didn’t want to get ahead of himself, but if Saturday and Sunday were as busy, he might even manage to squeeze out a tiny profit after he covered the costs of the table, the gas and his six-way split on the hotel room he was sharing with a handful of internet acquaintances.

Best of all, he’d even managed to stop at the Nikiforov Arts booth while Chris watched his table. He’d been hoping for more of the cute poodle art, but the splashy high-quality print from his current favorite anime was okay, too. Sadly, Victor hadn’t been at the booth. He’d hesitated to make the purchase without getting a signature, but the curvy brunette manning the booth had pointed out the popularity of the print and he’d hurried to hand over the cash before it sold out.

He could probably get Victor to sign it later, he reasoned.

His stomach grumbled and he dug a granola bar out of his shoulder bag as he made his way through the convention crowds to get to Chris’s room. In an attempt to be frugal, he’d packed an assortment of dried foods, but he’d promised himself a crab cake before he had to go home. Who knew if he’d be lucky enough to get a table in the Alley lottery next year? He might never visit Baltimore again, he had to take advantage of this opportunity while he could!

_ And speaking of opportunities…_

Yuuri hesitated outside the room Chris had indicated, swallowing the last of his granola nervously. He could hear the rumble of chattering voices from the hallway, the party apparently already in full swing. Screwing up his courage, he knocked tentatively, the door creaking open to reveal the Alley volunteer who’d handled his check-in paperwork this morning.

“Oh! Katsuki, right? Chris mentioned he’d invited you,” the girl chirped. “C’mon in!” she offered, standing back to let Yuuri into the room. “Chris!” she shouted, “Your artist pal is here!”

The girl waved as she wandered back over to the makeshift bar set up by the window, punching Chris’s shoulder as she passed him. The tall blond wrapped Yuuri in a borderline inappropriate hug, his hands sneaking down a bit too low. Yuuri just rolled his eyes, already used to Chris’s flirtatious manner despite how few times they’d seen each other in person.

Chris finally pulled back with a grin after lingering a bit too long. “So? A drink, then?”

“God, yes. I need one if I have to put up with you all night,” Yuuri deadpanned, much to Chris’s delight.

“Oooooh, darling, you are getting _ sassy! _ I _ like _ sassy!”

“You like anything that moves,” Yuuri teased back as Chris worked to efficiently mix a pair of drinks in the ubiquitous red Solo cups.

The blond handed him a cup, toasting him mockingly before they both took a gulp. “I was surprised not to see Yuuko with you. Thought you two were practically joined at the hip.”

Yuuri winced, taking a long sip of his drink. “Ahhh, she’s taking a break from traveling for a bit.” He hesitated, then finished his drink in one long pull. “She’s, uh, getting married actually.”

Chris took his cup, refilling it without asking. “I see. And is that the type of getting married that’s gonna hinder travel for a while?”

Yuuri shrugged, feeling a little guilty talking about his friend without her permission. “She’s happy. That’s the important part. And she’s going to start taking online classes at Wayne State, start working towards her teaching license. She’d like to be an art teacher someday.”

“And what about you, Yuuri Katsuki? You graduated—what’s the next step? Full time on the convention circuit? College? A spot of romance perhaps?” Chris waggled his eyebrows in a ridiculously lascivious fashion, drawing a sputtering laugh from the artist.

“Why am I not surprised to find you hovering near the alcohol, rambling about romance with some pretty young artist,” drawled a low voice.

Yuuri turned, startled, eyes widening at the tall young man that had joined them, Artist badge still hanging from his neck. The silvery blond hair and icy blue eyes were just like he remembered, though he’d traded the lanky, boyish frame for broad shoulders and a strong jawline.

“Ah, Vic darling, I wasn’t sure you’d be joining us. Won’t you say hello to my friend Yuuri? He’s an artist as well,” Chris practically purred, passing over a cup that Yuuri hadn’t even noticed him preparing.

Victor took it with a grimace. “I told you I’d be here,” he said bluntly, not even glancing in Yuuri’s direction. Which…_ ouch._

“Mmm, yes, well, a little birdy told me that Anya was solo at your rather pricey premium booth nearly the whole day. If you can blow off your table, why not my teeny ol’ party?” There was a strange quality to Chris’s voice, something brittle and tense that Yuuri had never heard from his friend before.

“Is that birdy named Georgi?” Victor replied, sounding almost bored as he moved to refill his already empty cup. “Anya’s being paid to help at my booth, not to spend time on his ridiculously costumed arm. Besides, I had other things to do and sales were fine without me.” Despite his bored tone, his eyes had narrowed and there was a tension in his jaw that hadn’t been there earlier. Feeling a bit like he was eavesdropping, Yuuri slipped away, freshly refilled cup in hand, his mind racing.

***

The party swirled around him and Yuuri found himself drawn into clusters of chattering artists and convention crew. Gossip flowed almost as freely as the alcohol, nobody seeming to mind that the majority of the partiers were underage, or that most of them would have to be up early the next morning to make it to the opening of the convention. He wasn’t quite sure how many drinks he’d downed by the time he found himself stumbling and catching himself against a set of broad shoulders and…

_ Oh. Shit._

Victor Nikiforov looked less than amused to be holding him up, his nose scrunched in annoyance at the alcohol now splashed down his obviously expensive shirt.

“Oh. Oh my god, I… I’m so sorry… I… I can pay for that…” Yuuri stammered out in horror. He frantically patted at his pocket, finally pulling one of his cards out of the back pocket of his jeans and offering it to the older artist. 

Victor barely glanced at it before he straightened, brushing his long hair off his shoulder with a nonchalant shrug as he tucked the card into his pocket. “No matter, it’s the end of the night and I’m pretty sure that’s about 90% vodka, so I doubt it’ll stain. If it does, guess I have an excuse to go shopping, hm?” He flashed a wide grin down at Yuuri and, to cap it off, finished with a breezy wink. It was undeniably hot, but Yuuri couldn’t help remembering the soft smile Victor had offered him years ago.

“So, Christophe seems to think you’re a fan,” Victor continued, moving past the awkwardness of the collision and straight into a whole new plane of panic-inducing conversation. “What’s your favorite franchise? I can be sure to save something for a fellow artist.”

_ Again, with that damned fake wink._

“Actually, I already bought a print, but you weren’t there,” Yuuri pointed out bluntly before turning to make his way back towards the drinks table. To his surprise, Victor followed him.

“So, you _ are _ a fan,” the older artist said with a smirk. “Should I sign it for you? Or…perhaps a commemorative photo?” Victor's voice was low, flirty... calculating.

A few hours ago, Yuuri would have jumped at the chance. Now… what was that old saying? Oh. Right.

_ Never meet your heroes._

“I’m good,” he replied, fishing for one of long-neck bottles drowning in the tub of rapidly melting ice. Cracking the cap, he turned back, meeting Victor’s surprised eyes with a bravery fueled by vodka and beer. “I liked your original work better, anyways.”

Victor flinched as if he’d been struck, his eyes widening in something akin to shock before narrowing again. “Let me guess, you’re, what, 16? First time lucking into a lottery table? This isn’t a _ hobby _ for some of us. Art school is _ expensive_, kid, and mom and dad don’t pay my bills anymore. Fanart _ sells._”

“I’m almost 18,” Yuuri whispered, his bravado all but gone in the face of Victor’s sudden ire. A sudden hand on his shoulder stilled any further words.

“It’s not his first show, Vic,” Chris’s deep voice pointed out quietly. “He made it into _ my _ Alley, and you _ know _ that’s not a lottery. No luck involved.”

“Juried Alley. No fan art. Yes, I’m aware Chris. Hence why I wasn’t _ there_.”

“You have more than enough talent and original work to get into that Alley and you know it!”

Yuuri suddenly had the sinking suspicion that he’d landed smack in the middle of an ongoing disagreement. Nervously, he began backing away from the table, allowing Chris’s hand to drop from his shoulder.

“Y’know, I’m getting damned tired of you and every amateur artist with a Wacom Tablet and a printer thinking that they know how I should run my booth! What I do _ sells_. It pays my fucking bills! Get off your high horse!” Victor turned, shaking, and for a moment Yuuri thought that he saw something other than anger in the older artist’s eyes. Something miserable and hurt…but it was gone in a flash. Victor seemed to sense that Yuuri was staring, because he turned and narrowed his eyes. “And you don’t get to judge me either, kid. Sorry that I can’t be who you expected,” Victor hissed.

It was Yuuri’s turn to flinch, shocked at the unexpected vitriol. To his horror, he felt tears beginning to form, half angry, half hurt. He dashed his hand across his face, trying to hide them.

“Ah, shit, kid, I didn’t mean that…” 

Yuuri glanced up, surprised to find Victor looking at him in stricken remorse before Chris intervened.

“Okay. That’s it. Out, Nikiforov,” the tall blond snapped. “There’s only room for one diva at this party, and you are _ not _ going to be it. I don’t need you treating my friends like shit just because you’re the Alley’s hot shot.”

“Chris, I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

Chris crossed his arms with a glare. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Victor slammed his drink down on the edge of the table. “Fine. Good night, Christophe.”

“Nikiforov,” Chris acknowledged curtly.

Without another word, Victor made his way out of the crowded room, more than a few pairs of eyes following him before the room erupted in a flurry of whispered conversations.

Yuuri watched the door close, knowing something had changed, knowing that conventions would never be the same for him.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why does Victor have such a chip on his shoulder? We'll start to find out in the next chapter. We're going back in time to Victor's freshman year in high school. Baby Vitya! Baby Georgi! Angst!


	2. Merely Freshmen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet teenage Vitya. And Georgi...  
And Victor's parents.
> 
> ***
> 
> Follows Victor's POV from ages 14-17 (Freshman year through the start of Senior year of high school)

*****August, 2007, Oak Park, Illinois*****

There were two things Victor Nikiforov loved more than anything else in the world.

  1. His puppy, Makkachin, the greatest poodle that has ever lived.
  2. Drawing pictures of his puppy, Makkachin, the greatest poodle that has ever lived.  
  


His parents didn’t really seem to understand love #2, but they gave him Makkachin for his 14 th birthday back in December, so at least they understood love #1. 

Probably. 

Right now, he could have really used Makkachin’s presence. He’d begun to draw more than a few curious stares from the other kids lingering outside of the school but that was probably to be expected. New kids always got stared at, right? Though, maybe it was his hair. None of the other boys seemed to have waist length hair… most of them sported nearly identical spiky crops. 

And nearly identical polo shirts with khaki shorts. 

It was kind of strange. He’d thought transferring to a public school for high school meant that people would dress a little less, well,  _ uniform. _ He glanced down at his own grey tartan pants and pink t-shirt combo, suddenly wondering if it was his  _ hair _ drawing the attention after all. 

Shrugging to himself, he adjusted the strap on his messenger bag, then made his way through the front doors and to the main office where he flashed his sweetest smile at the woman manning the desk. She beamed back at him.

“First day, hon? What’s your name? We’ll get you settled right away!” 

“Victor. Victor Nikiforov!” he chirped. The woman blinked, looking more closely at him. 

“Oh. Well, right. Let’s get your schedule then, ah, Victor Nikiforov.”

He glanced around the office while he waited, taking in the steady stream of students wending their way down the hallways. Many of them wore shirts bedecked with the school mascot and Victor felt a tiny burst of hope. Huskies weren’t as good as poodles, but having a dog as a mascot was a good sign, right?

“Okay, dear, just about finished. Looks like we’ve got you in the college prep track. I’m just missing your elective, here. Unless you’d prefer to take a study hall?”

“Art!” 

It was out of his mouth before he could help himself, even though his mother had been touting the merits of taking a debate class for weeks. 

“Ah, we’ve got a pottery course or a figure drawing course with open slots,” the secretary prompted, raising an eyebrow in query.

“Figure drawing. Please,” Victor replied firmly. Within a few minutes, the woman handed him a neatly printed slip of paper and a map of the high school. Taking a deep breath, Victor prepared to throw himself to the wolves. 

Or Huskies. Whichever.

**October, 2007**

“Oh! How cute!” 

Victor blinked out of the daze he’d once again fallen into during CP Algebra, turning to glance over his shoulder at the girl behind him. She craned her neck to see his notebook, her eyes fixed on his notebook, where he’d been absent-mindedly doodling instead of copying down the equations from the smart board. 

“Um, thank you?” 

“Is that a bunny?” the girl asked, leaning even farther over his shoulder. 

“No!” he replied, indignant. “It’s a poodle!”

“Miss Moore. Mr. Nikiforov. Something you’d care to share with the class?” Mr… Kaufman? Hoffman? barked.

“No, sir,” the pair chorused, straightening in their seats. The teacher eyed them for another long moment before turning back to the board.

*** 

“Vitya,” came his mother’s voice as he slipped into the house. He sighed, staring longingly toward his room before trudging reluctantly into her office. 

“Yes, mama?” he said meekly, trying hard to keep from bouncing on his toes. He’d planned on sketching tonight, not on listening to another of Vasilisa Nikiforova’s infamous “discussions”.

His mother pursed her lips, a deep breath causing her nostrils to flare before she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Sit, darling. We need to talk.”

Worse and worse.

He moved faurther into the office, perching on the stiff little chair that was more modern-art than furniture. “Yes, mama?” he repeated nervously.

“Do you know why we moved you into public school?” she asked, her voice gentle as she watched him with icy blue eyes so like his own.

“Because I hated the private school?” he replied, voice small. 

“Yes. And because we thought, well… OPRF has an  _ excellent _ reputation, plenty of extracurriculars…” She leaned forward to cup his cheek. “Your father and I thought maybe you’d actually socialize a bit, make some friends.” 

Victor shrugged. “I have friends. I talked to one of the girls in algebra the other day…kind of.”

“Kind of,” his mother repeated flatly. “In algebra. That would be Mr. Huffman, yes?”

_ Huffman. That was his name… _

“Uh, yes?” 

“Vitya, he called us the other day. Said you haven’t turned in a single assignment on time this entire semester.”

Victor blanched.  _ No. Not this again. He was trying, he really was… _

He must have said some of that out loud, because his mother sighed. “Oh,  _ lyubov moya _ , I know. I know you are. You’re  _ so _ bright, I know you can do well if you can just  _ focus. _ Maybe we can switch that art class out for a study hall…”

“No! Please! I’ll work harder! I promise!”

“We’ve heard that before, Victor,” came his father’s voice from behind him. “High school is  _ important. _ Colleges won’t look at your elementary and junior high grades, but they  _ will _ look at these.”

“I’m sorry, papa,” he muttered, eyes focused determinedly between his knees. A heavy hand settled on his shoulders. 

“You can stay in art this semester. If your grades keep up, we’ll discuss letting you stay in the class going forward.”

Victor snapped his head around to stare at his father, barely daring to believe in the unexpected reprieve. “ _ Thank _ you, papa.”

Dimitri Nikiforov held up a hand, forestalling any further words from his son. “ _ And _ you’ll join a club or sport next semester. Ms. McMillan says your French is advanced enough that you could skip ahead a year there, so that’s at least  _ something _ good coming from the money we spent on your education. It’s unfortunate you never seemed to care much for group sports, but surely you can find  _ some _ sort of activity that you’ll enjoy. Colleges want to see well-rounded applicants, Vitya.”

Victor hunched in the uncomfortable chair, wishing desperately for the whole conversation to just be  _ over _ . 

“Sweetheart, you like dancing, maybe you could try out for the musical?” There was something pleading in his mother’s voice; Vasilisa always struggling to play the peacemaker between her practical husband and free-spirited son.

Victor latched onto the suggestion. “Yes! I…I’ll do that! And I’ll keep my grades up, I swear!”

Dimitri nodded solemnly. “Very well. See that you do, Vitenka. I don’t want to have this discussion again.”

**January, 2008**

OPRF was doing South Pacific for the spring musical. Victor wasn’t particularly familiar with the show, but the director’s eyes lit up when he stepped into the audition room and handed him his carefully completed audition form.

“Seven years of ballet and four years of modern dance?” Mr. Frazier asked, handing the form over to the music director.

Victor nodded. “Um, yes.”

“Excellent,” the director commented, steepling his hands beneath his chin. “Go ahead with your monologue, Victor!”

He spoke, he sang, and, at the music director’s request, he danced. The adults in the room were all nodding approvingly as he finally left.

**August, 2008**

“We’d love to have you back for West Side Story,” Mr. Frazier said to him the first day of his sophomore year. Audition notices were already posted for the fall musical and the director had wasted no time in tracking down the handful of boys who had performed in South Pacific. “You made an excellent Billis, there’s even more opportunity for a dancer with your abilities in this production! Be sure to think about it!” He patted Victor’s shoulder before walking away.

Victor grimaced at the band instructor-turned director’s back. It wasn’t that he’d disliked the theatre program,  _ exactly _ , it just wasn’t that exciting. He turned back to his perusal of club notices, frowning a bit as nothing caught his eye. He’d been able to get into the advanced art class this year and he was determined to find something to keep his father from taking it away from him. Theatre took up a lot of time, but at least it was something he seemed to be good at. He couldn’t really imagine joining the chess club or one of the sports programs…

“Flyer?” came a voice from behind him, startling him out of his reverie. He turned, meeting a pair of eyes nearly as blue as his own, though they were housed beneath a mass of hair and brows that were nearly raven to his silver.

“Uh…sure,” he stammered, struggling to remember if he knew this boy.

“Georgi Popovich,” the teen offered, saving Victor from embarrassing himself. “I was in the chorus for South Pacific last year?” he continued, extending his hand.

“Oh! Right. I think I remember you,” Victor lied, taking both flyer and hand. He glanced down. “Ah? An…ani…”

“_Anime_,” Georgi said, carefully enunciating the strange word. “I’m starting a new club this year, for appreciation of Japanese animation and culture! You should come to the interest meeting! You strike me as someone who appreciates art!”

Victor glanced down skeptically at the wide-eyed characters on the flyer. “It  _ does _ look cute, I suppose,” he prevaricated.

“Oh, it’s more than just cute! Just come to one meeting? I already got an advisor to chaperone, I just need a few more club members for the school to approve it…” Feeling slightly trapped, Victor nodded, earning a grin of thanks from his earnest new friend. “Excellent! Tomorrow, right after last period! In the library!” Georgi dashed away to aggressively brandish a flyer in the direction of a pair of freshman girls.

Victor shook his head. He could always audition for the spring musical, but it certainly seemed as if this anime club would take up less of his free time. He supposed it couldn’t hurt to attend  _ one _ meeting.

**January, 2009**

“Victor! Georgi! If I can have your attention for  _ one _ minute?” Cao Bin asked, exasperated. Guiltily, the teenagers turned away from their excited discussion of the latest episode of Naruto. The teaching assistant smirked at them, chuckling a little at their enthusiasm. “Now, if you’re finished for now, I have some good news. I have some connections at an anime show that’s up in Rosemont in May. They’re giving me a handful of comp tickets and I’ll have a booth in the artist alley, so some of you can take turns helping me at the booth to get an idea of what the convention is like from that side, too.” He eyed Victor as he finished his announcement.

Victor squirmed a bit in his seat. Cao Bin was in his final year of art school, with a second major in education. The teaching assistant had taken to quietly encouraging Victor’s habit of doodling the characters from the shows he and Georgi watched, but helping out at an art table…

He couldn’t help thinking that his parents would never allow it.

“Victor?” Cao Bin’s voice called softly, startling him out of his thoughts. He looked around, surprised to see that the rest of the students had already filed out, only Georgi lingering in the doorway.

“Ah, sorry, yes?” he managed to stammer out.

Cao Bin offered him a small smile of encouragement. “I think you’d enjoy the convention, Victor. And seeing how an artist alley works could be useful. You’ve got a lot of talent; you should put it to use some day.”

He stood abruptly, not meeting Cao Bin’s eyes. “Right. Sorry, I…I have to go. I need to walk my dog.” He could feel the advisor’s eyes on his back as he brushed past Georgi, his friend turning to scramble after him.

“You don’t want to go to the convention? There’ll be voice actors, Victor!  _ Cosplayers! _ Artists!” Georgi’s voice was loud in the empty hallway.

Victor hesitated at the front door for a long moment. “My dad thinks this is a film club,” he finally muttered, turning to see Georgi’s reaction. “I’m supposed to do a club that’ll look good on my college applications.”

His friend blinked at him, nonplussed. “But…it  _ is _ a film club. Kind of.”

Victor snorted. “I don’t think watching cartoons and doodling the club members as manga characters is what my dad had in mind,” he said dryly, finally pushing out into the frigid winter air.

“What a tool,” Georgi snorted at his side. “So, tell him it’s a film festival, then. Or get your mom to sign the permission slip if you think it’ll be easier.”

He hesitated, uncertain of how much he was willing to admit to the other boy. “I…I have to be in a club and a language class if I want to keep my art class. But…it’s supposed to  _ broaden _ my, uh, my appeal? To colleges? If I’m just using the anime club to do more art, they’ll make me do something else,” he finally said as they passed the Tasty Dog, a chattering group of their classmates hovering outside even in the below freezing temperatures.

“We’re 16,” Georgi said calmly. “In a couple of years, we’ll be adults. Are you going to let them decide how to live your life forever?”

Victor was silent for a block, his mind racing. “No,” he finally said firmly, coming to a halt and meeting his friend’s eyes in determination. “I’m not.” 

**September, 2010**

Telling his parents he was gay had been, in retrospect, surprisingly easy. There’d been a boy at the homecoming dance his junior year--they’d flirted, then snuck away to sloppily make-out in the home-ec room. He’d confessed to his mother the next day, afraid that keeping another secret would somehow break him, would somehow cost him his tightly held dreams.

His mother, to his surprise, hadn’t batted an eye. She’d smoothed his hair back, assured him of her love, then matter-of-factly informed him that just because there was no risk of pregnancy, it didn’t mean he should skip out on protection. Face flaming, he’d fled the room and blasted Fall Out Boy until he was certain he could face civilization once more.

And, because Vasilisa Nikiforova could never keep secrets from her husband, Viktor’s father had sat beside him on the couch one evening, patting him awkwardly on the back while regaling him with tales of his gay college friend who now led a Fortune 500 company. Victor supposed it was Dimitri’s way of saying that being gay wasn’t the end of Victor’s potential future, which was less comforting and more insulting than his father had probably intended.

By the end of the week the entire topic had been swept quietly under the rug, with only the occasional cautious reference.

Today felt harder.

He glanced down at the thick packet in his hands, trying not to wrinkle it too much despite his nervous clutching. A soft  _ borf _ sounded at his side and he turned to look down at Makkachin as she rested her curly head on his thigh. She looked up at him with soft, mournful eyes and he smiled as he scritched behind her ears. “You’ll support me, right, girl?” he cooed, laughing a little as Makka’s ears perked up, looking for all the world as if she were listening intently.

“Vitya?” his mother called, her voice muffled by both distance and his perpetually closed bedroom door.

He heaved a deep sigh, his fingers unconsciously clenching on his precious packet. Makkachin trailing behind him, he made his way to the living room, where both of his parents awaited him.

“Vitya,” his father boomed seriously, “was there something you wanted to tell us?”

He could feel panic crawling up his spine. What did they know?  _ How _ did they know? He’d had a  _ plan _ …

“Ms. Moore called us, darling,” his mother chimed in. His guidance counselor. Shit. They knew. They knew…he had a  _ plan… _ His father was moving towards him but his vision was tilting and they knew, they knew, they…

“Congratulations, son. I knew you had it in you.”

Victor blinked, his vision suddenly coming back into focus. “Huh?”

“A National Merit Scholar!” his mother cheered. “Honey, we’re so proud!”

“Lots of scholarship opportunities for you now, Vitya,” Dimitri added, his face settling into something proud and almost smug.

“I was accepted at SAIC,” Victor blurted out, his careful plans derailing in the face of his parents’ unexpected effusion. He held the sheaf of papers in front of him like a shield, Makkachin snuggled close against his thigh.

“SAIC?” his mother asked, confused, Dimitri suddenly going still and stony at her side.

“It’s an  _ art _ school,” his father said flatly. 

“It’s the best art school in the state. One of the best in the country,” Victor whispered, one of his hands dropping from the papers to tangle in Makka’s fur.

Vasilisa’s hands fluttered nervously as she glanced between her glowering husband and trembling son. “Vitya, darling…with your test scores…you can always keep art as a  _ hobby _ . You don’t need art school to doodle in your spare time!”

“It’s not a  _ hobby, _ mama!” Victor’s head shot up, his voice louder than he intended. His mother’s eyes widened, and she looked at her husband, beseeching. Dimitri’s gaze focused in on the packet and the tall man strode forward, pulling it from his son’s shaking hand. A long moment passed in silence as Dimitri shuffled through the papers, the furrow in his brow growing ever deeper.

“This isn’t just foolishness, Vitya,” Dimitri finally said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “This is  _ expensive _ foolishness. I don’t want to hear any more about this, is that understood? I have been more than indulgent with you. I have allowed your classes; I have allowed your cartoon club…” He raised an eyebrow when Victor startled. “Yes, son, I may be old, but I am not entirely oblivious. But I let you do it, because you kept your grades up as you promised. You have every opportunity to make something of yourself, Vitya, and I will not pay for you to waste your potential on a childish dream.” With that, Dimitri tossed the packet into the nearby trash bin. “I expect you to speak with Ms. Moore and bring home the applications she mentioned. For  _ proper  _ colleges. We’ll sit down and work on them this weekend.” He nodded firmly, clearly convinced that the conversation was at an end, then walked out of the room, clasping Victor’s shoulder as he passed.

Victor stood still, eyes glued to the trash bin where the early acceptance letter had been so carelessly tossed. He’d spent hours carefully preparing his portfolio with Cao Bin and Georgi’s help. He’d been so happy when the envelope arrived…

“Vitya, darling. Your father just wants what’s best for you…” his mother said gently, drawing his attention back to her sky-blue eyes, wide with concern. She fluttered helplessly for a moment, then pulled him into a gentle embrace. “We’ll go shopping this weekend. We can go downtown, stop for lunch…” She pulled away, kissing his forehead like she had when he was a child. She hesitated for another moment, but when he didn’t respond beyond a terse nod, she sighed and followed her husband from the room.

Victor waited until her footsteps had faded before crouching next to the bin and removing the scattered pages of his precious acceptance letter. Makkachin nosed at his side as he carefully patted the papers back into order before bursting into tears, muffling his sobs in her silky coat.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As many of you may have guessed, yes, all conventions and locations are real. Feel free to guess at them! Special thanks to my friends from Oak Park who helped me with info about the school!  
***  
Up next: Victor makes some decisions.


	3. Rebel, Rebel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor meets Chris and plans for a future of his own making.

**May, 2011, Rosemont, Illinois**

“Uh, yes, I’m checking in? Artist Alley? Victor Nikiforov?” He bit his lip, nervous that somehow his registration would have been lost, that he’d have hauled his supplies here and wasted his train fare for nothing. He couldn’t afford to waste even the couple dollars the ride had cost him...

“Gotcha right here, Victor,” the convention volunteer said, handing over a pair of badges and a manila envelope. “You’ll find lanyards and Alley info in there. The show floor opens in two hours, please make sure you’re ready to go by then!”

“Right! I will!” He clutched the precious badges, hurrying back to where Georgi was guarding the pair of suitcases that housed the prints and other supplies he’d lugged out to the show. With graduation looming, he needed to sell as much as he could at this convention, needed to make enough to cover the table and the train fare, enough to cover his share of the deposit on the tiny apartment he and Georgi hoped to share.

His parents weren’t willing to pay for art school, but Victor was determined to prove to them that he could turn his passion into a career.

Maybe then they’d look at him with something other than disappointment in their eyes.

He shook off the negative thoughts as he reached his friend, rifling through the envelope to pull out the neon lanyards, clearly sponsored by one of the exhibiting animation studios. He passed Georgi’s over, then busied himself donning his own badge. With the artist logo granting him access to the sales floor, Victor felt like he’d taken his first real step towards securing his future. Sure, he’d committed to SAIC, had filled out all the loan forms with Cao Bin’s help…but this was his chance to really see if people were willing to pay for what he could create.

“You ready?” Georgi asked, his hair spiked ridiculously high above the red headband he was sporting. “I’m gonna help you get set up and then I’m going to go stake out the room for the voice actor panel.”

Victor chuckled, snagging the handle of the larger suitcase, turning to head toward the guard checking badges at the show floor entrance. “You just want to be out in the crowds where people can see your cosplay.”

“Girls,” Georgi answered solemnly. “I want to be out in the crowds where  _ girls _ can see my cosplay. Our high school is small beans. If my soulmate is out there, she’ll be here, and she’s going to love  _ Rurouni Kenshin _ as much as I do.”

Victor snorted. “You mean she’s going to appreciate the ridiculous amount of chest you’re showing.”

“Potato, potata, my friend.”

“Nerd. Whatever, here we are. Just help me get the tablecloth on and you’re free to go conquer all the hearts you want.”

Within a few minutes, Georgi was wandering off after promising to spell Victor for a bathroom break in a few hours. Victor slipped his earbuds in, humming along to the latest Panic! album as he carefully arranged his table. He cursed when one of the connectors for his display slipped out of his hand and went bouncing across the floor. He went to retrieve it, but a boy in a convention volunteer shirt beat him to it.

“Thanks,” he said as the boy handed the piece back to him. He slipped an earbud out, smiling at the volunteer. “It’s my first time setting up at a show. Guess I don’t have the hang of it quite yet.”

“Ah,  _ oui _ ? It’s my first time, too! As a volunteer, I mean! I just turned 16 in February, so I was too late for my hometown’s show, but I had friends working here, so, there you have it!”

Victor smiled at the younger teen’s exuberance. With his mop of shaggy blond curls and huge hazel eyes, the boy looked like the picture of innocence, but there was a sly twist to the kid’s mouth that made Victor suspect that his new friend had more than a passing acquaintance with mischief.

“I’m Victor, Victor Nikiforov,” he offered in introduction, extending the hand not currently occupied with errant connector pieces.

“Christophe Giacometti.  _ You _ can call me Chris though, honey,” the boy said, fluttering his lashes in a ridiculous display of faux coquettishness. “Though, I actually do know who you are. I looked at all the artist profiles! Your portfolio looked fantastic! I love the poodle prints…do you ever do other animals?”

Victor laughed, leading the way back to his table. “Um, sometimes. I did cartoon pet portraits for a few of my clubmates, they seemed to like them well enough.” He opened up a folder on his phone, showing the images to the volunteer, whose eyes widened in appreciation.

“I will totally be your first customer if you’ll do one of those for me!” Chris said, cooing in delight over the photos. “I could send you a picture of my  Angèle ? How much do you charge for commissions?”

Victor blinked in surprise. “Oh, um…I was thinking maybe $20 for a sketch? $25 with colors? Is that too much?”

Chris grinned. “No way, don’t undervalue yourself,  _ mon ami! _ ” He pulled out his wallet, giving Victor just enough time to recognize the  _ Evangelion _ logo before the boy had forked over a folded pair of bills. “Can I text you a picture? And then we’d have each other’s numbers, in case you wanted to hang out later? Or I could watch your booth for you if you need a bathroom break…”

Victor took the cash, already opening his phone up to the contacts screen and handing it to the volunteer. “I have a friend here, he’s good to watch my table, but…maybe if you wanted to meet up after the show floor closes?”

“But of course!” 

**June, 2011, Oak Park, Illinois**

“Graduating with a Scholarship Cup in the class of 2011; Victor Nikiforov.”

A handful of wolf-whistles from his friends greeted the principal’s announcement, and Victor flashed a weak grin as he stepped forward, accepting both the tiny medal and the leather binder holding his precious diploma. He chanced a glance out at the crowd, eyes unerringly finding the silver-gilt of his mother’s hair. Next to her, his father sat, looking down at the program as Victor made his way back to his seat.

“Nice job,” Georgi crowed in his ear. Victor tried to take some sort of comfort in his friend’s support, despite the ambivalence he knew he’d face once his parents met him after the ceremony. 

“You’re coming to my party tomorrow, right?” his friend continued under the cover of the applause for the next Scholarship Cup recipient. With a graduating class of more than 800, the Top Ten announcements were expanded to include all of the students graduating with a GPA over 4.0. With the number of AP classes that OPRF offered, that made for nearly 40 students, their bios plumping the graduation program to quite a hefty pamphlet.

“Ah, yeah, that’s the plan. You’re sure you don’t mind if Makka tags along?” Victor asked anxiously.

“Of course not! Just let me hold onto her leash for a while. Chicks totally dig dogs.”

Victor rolled his eyes, laughing at his girl-crazy friend.

“Oh, and Vitya…”

“Don’t worry about a gift. I know, I know,” Victor muttered, refusing to meet his friend’s eyes. The truth was, with the looming costs of housing and the rather large portion of SAIC’s tuition fees not covered by his handful of scholarships, he couldn’t afford more than a card and a hand drawn sketch for each of the friends who’d invited him to their parties. Though, if he were being honest, his finances were in slightly better shape than he’d expected. His prints had proven surprisingly popular at the anime convention and, even better, he had a new friend in Christophe Giacometti. The younger boy had already introduced him to several other convention opportunities, and hopefully they’d prove equally lucrative. 

He chanced a glance over his shoulder, peering around for his parents. There was a small, stifled part of him that secretly hoped they’d see his picture in the program, see the medal around his neck and realize that he’d done everything they’d ever asked of him. Everything except give up his dreams.

His mother’s hair still shone in the sunlight, but the seat at her side was now empty.

***

He walked home alone, waving off sympathetic offers of rides from Georgi’s parents and several well-intentioned teachers. In the warm June sun his dark suit and tie began to feel like a cloth prison, and he vowed to try to sell the restrictive and expensive formalwear when he moved out. It wouldn’t be the first piece of his soon-to-be-former lifestyle that he’d thrown to the wolves of eBay. Between the auction site, conventions and his burgeoning Etsy account, he’d amassed a tidy amount of savings, hidden away from his parents in a private account he’d opened on his 18 th birthday.

Victor paused as he reached the foot of his parents’ driveway, glancing up at the overpriced brownstone, tucked into the tree-lined confines of Oak Park. By defying his family, he was turning his back on this world, on the easy passage through life that his father had always intended him to follow. But was that ease worth losing the passion that had driven him for so long? Shrugging a little at his thoughts, Victor eased his key from his pocket, letting himself into the house.

“You dawdled long enough, I half expected you’d gone home with one of your little friends,” Dimitri Nikiforov muttered blandly, not bothering to glance up from the iPad he was perusing on the couch.

Something ugly twisted in Victor’s gut at the dismissal in his father’s voice. “It’s a mile from the high school. I’d have been home quicker if you’d bothered to wait for me after the ceremony,” he pointed out, trying to match his father’s bland tone. The elder Nikiforov’s eyebrows shot up and he finally looked at his son, his pale grey eyes piercing.

“You know your mother doesn’t do well in the sun,” Dimitri replied. “Besides, you’re young and independent, I’m sure you could have figured out a ride if you wanted one.”

Victor took a deep breath, trying to cool the burning anger that seemed to always simmer below the surface when he spent any time with his father.

“Dima, let Vitusha be.”

Victor shuddered. He’d grown to hate that conciliating tone in his mother’s voice. Always seeking to make peace but never truly taking her son’s side in the quiet battle that had been waged under her roof for so long.

“Why don’t you get changed, Vitya,” Vasalisa said, her smile a tiny, tremulous thing as she looked in Victor’s direction. “You wouldn’t want to ruin your nice clothes, hm?”

_ EBay _ , Victor thought to himself.  _ To hell with this suit. _

_ To hell with this family. _

**September, 2011, Chicago, Illinois **

Victor grabbed for his cheap foam ear plugs as heavy bass thudded through the thin walls of the tiny studio apartment. The first few weeks after he and Georgi had moved in, he’d tried complaining to the management company, but he’d quickly realized that $700 a month wasn’t enough money for anyone to care about the complaints of a pair of 18-year-old college kids. Not for the first time, he found himself regretting the fact that he’d sold the fancy noise-cancelling headphones his aunt had given him for his last birthday. Yeah, he’d needed the money, but…

He sighed, picking up his stylus and turning back to the project on his tablet just in time for the door to slam, rattling the tiny table where he’d been attempting to work. 

“Homework?” Georgi asked, peering down curiously as he dropped his bag on the floor and straddled the chair next to Victor’s.

“No, I’m done with this week’s assignments. Was just doodling,” Victor replied, pulling the squishy plugs back out. “Did you need the table?”

Georgi shook his head. “Not right now. But I need the TV, I have to watch some old movie and write a critique of the acting methods.” 

Victor waved a languid hand in the direction of the screen taking up a large chunk of wallspace across the room. “Have at it. I’m just messing around right now anyway. Though, good luck actually understanding what they’re saying over the lovely concert we’re being treated to right now,” he said, his mouth twisting wryly.

Georgi shook his head, chuckling. “All part of the fun of life in the Windy City, hmm?” The dark-haired teen paused, glancing at Victor’s tablet again. “You should make that into a print, throw it on your Etsy page.”

Victor peered critically at his drawing, a character from the anime he’d been watching last night, mimicking the classic ‘We Can Do It’ artwork. “I was just messing around… you know I usually just do original stuff on there…”

Georgi shrugged. “You could do a whole series. Might be kind of cool. People will pay for fanart, you know… then you wouldn’t have to work so many hours at that sandwich shop. You don’t get any rest, Victor. I know you need the money but...”

Victor bit his lip, considering the suggestion. “Maybe. I suppose it can’t hurt to try.”

**May 2012, Rosemont, Illinois**

Victor stood back, lips pursed as he examined his table set-up with a critical eye. The success of the fanart prints in his Etsy shop had helped him stay afloat his first year of art school, and he’d added them to his convention portfolio at Georgi’s encouragement. He’d tried to keep his mix of poodle prints and fandom prints balanced, but he couldn’t help shifting one of the Makkachin sketches a little closer to the center of his display before finally affixing his pricing sheets.

A low whistle caught his attention and he straightened, catching Christophe’s lithe frame against his side as the younger teen leaned against him. “You’ve expanded, mon ami. Though I’m glad to see you advertising the pet portraits this year.”

“Hello, Chris, it’s good to see you,” Viktor said, smiling down at his young friend. Though…not nearly as far down as he remembered… “You’ve gotten taller, I see.”

“Mmmmm, I’ve always been a late starter, but I suspect I’ll have you beat before long,” Chris replied, finally straightening from where he’d been leaning on Victor’s shoulder. “I do like the prints, Vik.”

“Why do I sense a  _ but _ ?” 

Christophe laughed. “But, you’ll have to be careful with some conventions, you know. Not every Alley allows the same amount of fanart. The Columbus show is talking about going completely fanart free in the Alley…”

Victor shrugged. “It’s a nice sideline, is all. I like drawing it, and people seem to enjoy it, so where’s the harm?”

“No harm at all, just a friendly word of caution is all,” Chris said in a conciliatory tone. “It’s good that you have a nice mix of original stuff in there, you’ll have more than enough material if you want to do non-fanart Alleys.

Victor nodded, tugging another pet portrait to the foreground. “I don’t intend to stop doing original art. Just…I have bills to pay.”

***

Chris’s words stayed with him through the weekend, as if he couldn’t help prodding at the wound the younger man had opened in Victor’s side. Still, he couldn’t be upset at the sales he was amassing. At this rate, he’d easily outpace the previous year’s numbers. VIctor continued his automatic smiles, handing over prints and accepting cash as he mentally tallied his upcoming bills, trying to figure out if he could finally squeeze in a new pair of noise cancelling headphones…maybe that set of acrylics he’d been eyeing…

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a boy hovering. Young, shaggy black hair, wide eyes hidden behind thick frames.  _ Cute _ , he thought inconsequentially. The boy lingered on the edge of the crowd for a while and Victor felt his eyes drawn back to him in between transactions. Finally, his curiosity got the better of him.

“Would you like to buy something?” he asked, smiling encouragingly.

“Oh, ah, um,” the teenager snatched up one of the Makka prints. “This please!” 

“Of course! Would you like me to sign it?” Victor replied, holding out a hand to accept both the print and the cash that the boy shoved into his hands hastily. 

The pretty teen nodded frantically. Victor’s smile hitched a little wider as he took in the wide-eyed stare that the boy aimed in his direction. He scrawled his signature and a little doodle in the corner of the print before handing it back, his hand brushing against the boy’s.  _ Too young _ , Victor scolded himself. Still, he couldn’t help watching as the boy hurried away, the print clutched to his chest as if it were something precious. A girl shoved a Sailor Moon print in his face a few seconds later, breaking his reverie. 

The pretty boy was soon forgotten in the rush of sales.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm absolutely humbled by the response to this story. Thank you all so much.
> 
> I am aiming for a realistic journey for our Vitya, please bear with me through his challenges! I am basing his story on the struggles and experiences of many of my friends, with a touch of my own history. I promise, there's light at the end of this tunnel!
> 
> Up Next: Yuuri returns as our timelines finally intersect! Baby Phichit! Hangovers! Stay tuned.


	4. Rude Awakenings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor begins to regret his alcohol consumption after Chris's party.  
Yuuri holds a grudge and learns some new skills.  
A wild Phichit appears!

**August 2014, Baltimore**

“Fuck!” Viktor swore as he slapped at his nightstand, missing the phone and instead knocking over the glass of water that he’d apparently left there. _ Brilliant_, he thought, _ great fucking start to the day, Nikiforov. _Ignoring the puddle slowly soaking into the carpet, he instead snatched up the blaring cell phone, answering the call before it ended.

“What?” he snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose as the headache began to bloom behind his eyes.

A deep sigh echoed down the line. _ Georgi_. Which meant… “Tell me you did not seriously _ just _ wake up!” his old friend snapped. “How drunk did you _ get?” _Which was…actually a very good question.

“I’m sorry, I’ll get dressed and be down in a few minutes,” Victor said in lieu of answering, aiming for contrition but knowing he’d come off more whiny than apologetic.

“The _ Tokyo Ghoul _ photoshoot is in 20 minutes, Victor. Anya and I are going whether or not you’re at _ your _ booth,” Georgi snapped before cutting off the call.

Victor let the phone fall to the bed, burying his head in his hands and tugging at his hair in an attempt to ease the pain that continued to spread. _ How much _ had _ he drunk last night? _He glanced over at the trash bin across the room, unsurprised to see an empty bottle of Stoli glaring accusingly back at him. He heaved himself off the bed, moving to strip his rumpled clothes off. He paused, staring down at the stain covering the front of his shirt. 

_ Glorious whiskey-brown eyes, wide with shock… _

He shook his head, confused by the flash of memory, then winced at the pain of the movement. Shrugging off the mystery, he dropped his clothes in a pile, throwing on fresh ones before snagging his badge and wallet as he headed out the door.

By the time he’d made it past the crowded elevator and through the clogged hallways, Georgi and Anya were long gone from his table. Instead, Christophe was leaning against it, arms crossed and a frown of displeasure marring the man’s handsome features.

“Thanks for keeping an eye on things,” Victor said, aiming for breezy nonchalance as he slid behind the booth.

“Your assistant asked me to,” Chris replied curtly. “I’m not sure if you bothered to _ read _ your packet, but the premium tables are to be manned at all times. _ Preferably _ by the artist.”

“I’m here now, it’s fine,” Victor snapped, pulling the stash of metallic Sharpies out of his satchel. He did his best to flash a winsome smile at the girl that had approached, signing the pile of prints she requested before swiping her credit card on his iPad. By the time he finished, Chris was still glaring at him. “I overslept. I’m _ sorry_.”

“What the fuck happened last night?” his friend asked, his voice still sharp. “You were even more of an ass than you have been lately.”

“Ah. Your party?” Victor asked, trying desperately to remember whatever had set the younger man off.

“Yes,” Chris snapped. “At my _ fucking _ party.”

Victor shrugged, feigning nonchalance as he flashed a breezy grin. “Sorry, the meeting with Udon didn’t go as well as I’d hoped. I suppose I must have had a bit too much to drink.”

Chris shook his head, hazel eyes flashing. “So that’s why you were acting the diva? Things didn’t go your way, so you decided to take it out on everyone else?”

Victor winced. “Ah…”

“You know what? Never mind. Victor, I know you've worked hard to get here. I do. But the last couple of years it's like..."

Chris paused, pinching the bridge of his knows. "Look, Vic, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but an awful lot of the people sitting behind a table in this _ very _ large room? They want the same thing _ you _ do. To _ make _ it, to turn their passion into a career. And a lot of them? They look _ up _ to you. Because you’re a hell of a lot closer to achieving that dream than most of them will _ ever _ get. So, you? You don’t get to stomp on the hearts of the people who admire you and then just…fucking _ smile _ your way out of it.”

“Chris…I don’t...” 

The tall blond held up one hand, the other pinching the bridge of his nose. “I love you. I do. But right now, I don’t really want to hear your excuses. So just. Just sit your dramatic ass behind your table and play nice today. Can you handle that?”

Victor ruthlessly shoved down the retort that threatened to slip through his lips. Chris had his fingers in half a dozen conventions and was friends with the staff at a dozen more. He didn’t want to be ostracized from the scene…he might look successful on the surface, but he still had one more year of school to pay for...

Besides, Chris was technically one of his closest friends.

Or, at least, he _ thought _ they were still friends.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, Chris,” he murmured, settling into the chair and smiling up at the next batch of fans. When Victor turned back, the Alley coordinator was watching him with an inscrutable expression on his handsome features. After a long moment, Christophe let out a deep sigh and ran a hand through his shaggy curls.

“I have to go. We can talk about it later. Dinner. You’re buying.”

Victor nodded, feeling something akin to relief at the other man’s parting shot. He watched Chris walk back toward the Alley Ops table, pausing at a booth across the aisle before continuing on his way.

After Chris had disappeared, Victor allowed his eyes to wander back toward the booth where Chris had stopped. The artist behind the table was staring back at him. Dark shaggy hair, glasses…the boy was vaguely familiar, and Victor had to wonder if he’d seen the kid at some other convention. Shrugging off the nagging familiarity, he offered a smile and tiny wave in his fellow artist’s direction. To his surprise, the boy flushed, his features shifting into a scowl before the teen turned away to talk to a customer.

Victor felt a little surprised at the tiny surge of hurt that rushed through him. He knew not every artist liked him, knew that more than a few harbored a healthy dose of jealousy for Victor’s relative success. This wasn’t anything personal, surely.

…

So, why did it feel like it was? 

**January 2015, Columbus, Ohio**

A low whistle caught his attention and Yuuri looked up from where he’d been sketching, smiling automatically at the boy who’d leaned down to take a closer look at Yuuri’s work.

“Is that a commission?” the boy asked, his wide grey eyes darting back and forth as he scanned the page.

“Ah, no, homework actually,” Yuuri admitted.

“You get to make comic strips? For _ homework? _Lucky!”

Yuuri smiled sheepishly, flustered by the boy’s enthusiasm. “Ah, I guess I am? Pretty lucky I mean?” He meant it, too. His parents had refused to let him take out a loan in his name, insisting it was their duty to fund their children’s education. He still worked at the inn every weekend he could spare, desperate to prove that he wasn’t taking advantage of their generosity. Sometimes he felt guilty, wondering if they wished he’d gone into a hospitality program like his sister…

“Are these all your comics? Did you do all the art? I _ love _ comics. And manga. And graphic novels. Though those are just different _ kinds _ of comics, I guess? Do you do a webcomic? Can I buy this one? Will you sign it? Where do you go to school? What’s your name?”

Yuuri gaped at the boy’s rapid-fire questions, automatically taking the mini-comic that had been thrust in his face. “Um, yeah, these are all mine, though a high school friend of mine worked on a couple of them, too. No webcomic, but I have a tumblr? Sometimes I post comics and stuff up on it? And, ah, I go to Stamps. Um, I mean, the University of Michigan. Their art program?” He tried to answer the questions as he signed the front page of the little booklet, taking the crumpled bill that the boy handed over in exchange.

The kid crinkled his nose. “My older sister goes to OSU. I’m not s’posed to _ like _ U of M, but if you go there, it can’t be _ that _ bad. I’m Phichit, by the way, Phichit Chulanont!” the boy replied, beaming as he carefully tucked the signed comic into his shoulder bag.

“Yuuri. Um, Yuuri Katsuki. I have a card, if you want to follow me on tumblr or something?”

Phichit beamed as if Yuuri had given him something precious. “I will! And you should follow me! I don’t draw but I can sew and sometimes I make costumes from the comics and shows I like!” His fingers were flying over the screen of his iPhone as he spoke and Yuuri heard a buzz from his own phone, likely indicating his new follower. “Oh! Selfie?” Phichit asked, already leaning across the table with his phone extended, hopeful expression on his face.

Yuuri laughed, leaning in as the boy snapped several shots in quick succession. He didn’t do it often, but he had a feeling he’d soon be following a new tumblr account.

“Yuuri! Darling! _ Mon trésor!"_ He felt hot breath on his neck and a pair of hands sliding across his chest provocatively.

He sighed. “What do you want, Christophe?” 

The tall, blond, newly minted Assistant Alley Director pouted. “Can’t I greet one of my dearest friends without being accused of wanting something?”

Yuuri rolled his eyes, trying not to laugh as Phichit’s head whipped between the two older teens. Christophe’s pout grew more exaggerated before he plopped unceremoniously into the spare chair behind Yuuri’s table. “One of my panelists has food poisoning.” 

“No.”

“You don’t even know what the panel’s about,” Chris pointed out.

“I don’t do panels. I don’t do the talking in front of people thing,” Yuuri replied. He could feel his anxiety ratcheting up a notch at even the thought. “I can barely do the talking to _ a _ person thing…”

“It’s about tabling at a convention,” Chris said over top of his dithering. “You’ve been doing shows for a year now, it’d be good to get the perspective of a relative newcomer.” His tone had turned coaxing, hazel eyes wide and pleading.

“Who even would want to hear _ me _ talk?”

“I would, at the very least! Oh, you should totally do it, Yuuri! I can take pictures for your tumblr and everything!” Phichit chimed in, looking excited.

“See? You have fans, my dear! Please? Panelists get comped tables…”

Yuuri hesitated. Tables were expensive. Getting that money back could mean the difference between breaking even and turning an actual profit…

“Fine,” he sighed. “But nobody’s going to care what I have to say.” 

Christophe grinned and offered a high-five to Phichit. “Oh, _ cher_, I believe you’ll find you’re wrong there…”

**October 2015, Detroit, Michigan**

“…and I packed my favorite anime and manga for you to check out! I can’t believe you haven’t seen _ The King and the Skater _yet! I’m totally working on a cosplay of the main character!”

Yuuri shook his head, laughing lightly as his friend babbled. Phichit had driven up from Cleveland for the convention and would be returning with him to Ann Arbor for a campus visit. The 16-year-old had just started his junior year of high school and was taking the opportunity to scout out U of M’s theatre department while he was visiting with Yuuri. There’d already been talk of becoming roommates someday.

“…and, wow, Yuuri, you didn’t tell me you were doing _ three _ panels! That’s awesome! I’m going to all of them, so don’t worry! I’ll get plenty of photos for your Insta! Did you want me to live tweet? Oh! Who’s watching your table while you’re gone? I can ask around if you need someone!”

Yuuri grinned up at his younger friend, his display finally finished. “Breathe, Peach. And, ah, I have it covered actually. I’m, ah…since I’m doing all those panels, the convention…they’ll send someone to watch the table. And, bring me lunch? I guess?”

Phichit paused his bombardment for a moment, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at his newly minted best friend before beginning to ruffle through the convention program a little more closely. “You know, I figured you would _ tell _ your best bud if there were anything _ important _ about this convention. Important things like,” he paused dramatically, finger tapping on a page near the front of the booklet, “being a _ guest _ artist?”

“_Featured _ artist,” Yuuri corrected sheepishly. “Guests get paid.”

Phichit rolled his eyes. “And you _ just _ get, what, a table, food, an assistant…” He whistled lowly. “Pretty snazzy for a not-quite-19-year-old, my dude.”

“Comped parking and discount hotel rates, too,” Yuuri confessed, blushing. “But it really isn’t a big deal. There was probably someone better who couldn’t make it, so they just gave it to me since I live fairly close…”

“I literally cannot keep rolling my eyes like this, Yuu. I’m a performer. I NEED to be able to see the stage, y’know!” Phichit was shaking his head, still flipping through the program as Yuuri set up his iPad and Square reader. “Huh, some of these other featured artists look pretty cool. This Nikiforov guy supposedly does _ The King and the Skater _ fanart, maybe I’ll go snag a pr…”

Phichit looked up from the program in surprise, his words cut off in startled shock at a sudden loud clatter.

“Shit!” Yuuri moaned as he scrambled to pick his cash box off the floor, snatching frantically for the bills that had tumbled out.

Phichit tossed the program onto the table, dropping down to help his friend. “Whoa! What happened? You okay there?” the boy asked.

Yuuri snatched a roll of quarters from the floor, dropping it back into the box with shaking hands. He returned the metal box to its spot, then took a long sip from his water bottle. “I’m fine. Just fine. Uh, where did you say Nikiforov’s table was?”

Phichit eyed his friend warily. “I didn’t. But it’s two rows back. H17. Did you want something, too?”

Yuuri shook his head frantically. “No,” he said firmly. “You can pick up a print if you’d like, but there’s nothing at Victor Nikiforov’s table that I want.” 

***

Victor hesitated by a booth, something about the table naggingly familiar. The boy sitting behind the booth was Asian, with thick, dark hair, heavy brows, and an impressive scowl on his face. The fierce expression belied the tantalizingly familiar spread of cheerful comics and cartoon animal prints. Victor pasted his brightest smile on his face as he approached, casually palming a card from the stack on the table and glancing at it before speaking. “Hello! I hope the convention’s going well for you!”

The boy looked up, scowl deepening. Victor shuddered. If that was how the artist treated _ every _ potential customer, he was unlikely to be much competition. A shame. The art was rather charming…

“Not the artist,” the boy finally grunted.

Victor hesitated, flummoxed. If the artist couldn’t be at their table, surely they could have found a more engaging fill-in? Anya sold practically as much as _ he _did, after all. “Ah. I see, and you are…?”

The teen glanced down at his neon convention shirt before looking back up at Victor, one thick brow raised almost mockingly. “A volunteer?”

“Riiiight, my apologies. I’ll just…let you get back to volunteering then!” Victor chirped brightly before turning heel and heading back to his own booth. He’d promised Anya he was just taking a quick bathroom break after all. Still, as he hurried back to the table, he made plans to take a good look at the program. He peered at the card he’d snatched, thinking hard. Volunteers only manned booths for celebrity guests and featured artists, and Victor had thought he knew everyone who ever made the featured artist cut. He’d never heard of this Yuuri Katsuki, but if they were new to the scene, perhaps he needed to keep his eyes peeled. Conventions were getting boring.

Maybe it’d be nice to have a little more competition, after all. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks! Thank you all again for your kind words on this story! We're back into the same time line for both boys now. I know we skip a couple years of Victor's college experience, but it'll come back into play later. And I love Phichit, so I get so excited whenever I get to write him. And a 15-year-old Phichit? Even better!
> 
> Up Next:   
Christophe fills Yuuri in on a few things.  
The return of Victor's *delightful* parents.  
Oh, look, some foreshadowing!


	5. You Can't Go Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri continues to grow as an artist.  
Victor gets a little more jaded.  
The Baltimore convention is about to get interesting...

**January 2016, Columbus, Ohio**

“Room 706, 9:30,” came a familiar voice.

Yuuri looked up with a fond smile. “Y’know, I really should ask how you manage to get as much alcohol as you do, but I’m almost afraid to know the answer.”

Chris grinned down at him. “Fake IDs exist, Jan.”

Yuuri shook his head. “Riiiiight. I’ll be there.”

“With your little boyfriend?” the Assistant Alley Director pressed, his tone carefully lilting.

Yuuri frowned. “I’m not dating anyone, Chris.”

“Ah, the little cosplayer is…”

“A friend,” Yuuri replied, his tone flat. “He’s 16, Christophe.”

The tall blond shrugged. “You weren’t much older when we met. And you’re only just 19, it’s not _ that _ big of an age gap.” At Yuuri’s glare, he subsided. “Well, beau or not, he’s more than welcome. We don’t card at _ Chez Christophe_,” he purred.

Yuuri only laughed. “I’ll let him know, though I don’t know that it’s the best idea to subject him to your corrupting influence.”

Chris pouted. “Yuuri. Love of my life. I am _ wounded_. Absolutely eviscerated.” With a sigh he plopped into the empty chair at Yuuri’s side. “Soooo, how’s sophomore year treating my favorite artist?"

Yuuri rolled his eyes at his friend. “I’m not anyone’s favorite artist, Chris,” he pointed out reasonably.

Chris stared at him, his hazel eyes contemplative as he pulled up his iPhone screen, tapping away pointedly for a long moment. “Yes. Your 3,800 tumblr followers are just a fluke.”

Yuuri shrugged.

“_How _ many panels have you done since last year?” Chris pressed. “And at least three featured artist slots coming up? I heard Boston practically begged you to attend…”

Yuuri squirmed uncomfortably. “I’m sure you had nothing to do with that…”

Chris blinked in surprise. “Believe it or not, love, I don’t even get along with Boston’s Alley Head. As shocking as that may seem, what with my charming personality and all. That was all you.”

“I haven’t agreed, yet,” Yuuri admitted.

Chris narrowed his eyes. “Please tell me you aren’t turning down _ Boston. _ Yuuri, that’s a damned good show, their Alley Head’s questionable taste in friendships aside.”

Yuuri muttered under his breath, focusing on meticulously adjusting his stack of books.

“Sorry, _ cher_, I didn’t quite catch that?”

“Nikiforov is a featured artist there,” Yuuri finally admitted, leaning back with an annoyed huff.

Chris raised a brow in understanding. “Ah. Still carrying the old grudge, then? You can’t let him keep you from doing shows, Yuuri!”

“I’m not,” Yuuri protested. “I did Detroit, didn’t I?”

“Ah, yes. I heard Vic was a last-minute invite. Did you even know he’d be there?” Yuuri’s grimace was enough of a response for the Assistant Alley Head. “Did he say anything to you?” Chris pressed.

“No. I didn’t even notice him there,” Yuuri lied breezily, unwilling to admit how his heart had sped up every time he’d caught sight of the familiar mop of silvery hair. Victor Nikiforov had made his feelings about Yuuri quite plain, back in Baltimore. Victor was above him, untouchable…

“Riiiight,” Christophe drawled, clearly seeing through him. With lightning speed, he reached out, snagging Yuuri’s binder and flipping through to the very back pages. There, lovingly preserved in a plastic sheet, was the poodle print Yuuri had purchased in Rosemont so many years ago. Hazel eyes flashed between the page and Yuuri’s face. “He’s not a bad person, Yuuri. He’s just…gotten a bit jaded over the years.”

Yuuri slumped in his seat. “You heard what he said to me.”

Chris nodded, solemn. “And I read him the Riot Act over it, believe me.” Chris hesitated, licking his lips. “Hon, it’s not an excuse, but he’s had a rougher go of it than you know. You met him on a bad day. Don’t let it keep you from your own goals and dreams.”

“What dreams are you referring to?” Yuuri asked, flipping the binder closed with a snap and refusing to meet his friend’s eyes.

Chris sighed, patting his hand gently. “You want to be on his level, hmmm? You should prove to him that you’re already _ there_.”

**June 2016, Oak Park, Illinois**

Victor stared up at the imposing brick of the house where he’d been raised, key in hand and something fluttering and anxious wound tight in his gut. He glanced down at where Makkachin was panting at his feet. “This, my girl, is a terrible mistake,” he said matter of factly before hitching the garment bag a little more firmly over his shoulder and striding as confidently as he could up the front walk. The door swung open before he reached it, revealing Vasilisa Nikiforova hovering in the entrance. 

How long had it been since he’d seen his mother? A year? Eighteen months? There’d been that lunch at The Gage before his last student show, although she’d demurred from attending the gallery opening itself… She looked much the same as ever, though upon closer inspection her hair had faded a bit from the silvery blond, heading closer to true grey. 

“Vitya,” she murmured, tilting her face up for a welcome kiss in greeting. “When did you get so tall?” she murmured, as if to herself. 

He wanted to point out that he was 23, wanted to point out that she would have noticed had she accepted more than a handful of the invitations to events and lunches that he’d sent her since moving out five years ago. 

“Just how it goes, I guess,” he said instead, allowing the front door to swing shut behind him. Makka _ borfed _ softly at his side, hopeful for her own scraps of attention.

“Oh, goodness,” his mother squeaked. “It’s been so long since we’ve had a dog inside the house…I don’t know if…”

“I brought food. And her dish,” Victor offered. “There’s no need to do anything special for her.” He felt slightly gratified at the wince of guilt. Perversely, he felt a twinge of guilt of his own at the sight. Residual filial loyalty, he supposed. 

“Well, I’ll leave you two to get settled then. You’re just staying the one night?” Vasalisa asked, her hands fluttering before tentatively patting Makka’s curly head. 

“Mmm,” Victor hummed, already moving towards his bedroom. 

“Oh! I put towels in the spare room for you!” his mother called after him. “In case you wanted to clean up before your little speech.

Victor flinched. _ Little speech. _ “The spare room?” he queried, not trusting himself to respond to the other half of her statement. 

“Oh, goodness, I mean, your old room. You didn’t need it anymore, so we use it for guests mostly. And your father has his off-season coats in there, but there should still be room in the closet…”

“Right,” Victor ground out through gritted teeth. “How very practical.” 

***

He felt a little more centered after a shower, although having to shove his father’s excess clothes aside to make room for a single suit had been an additional source of aggravation. Still, as he straightened the knitted silk tie and shrugged himself into his jacket, he nodded approvingly at his appearance in the full-length mirror. The suit was well-tailored and flattered his broad shoulders and slim waist. He didn’t wear it often, but it felt akin to donning a suit of armor. Like this, he felt as if he could face anyone.

_ Even Dimitri Nikiforov. _

He glanced once more at the mirror, finger-combing his freshly cropped bangs so they laid _ just right _ before stepping into the hallway and heading back to the living room, his carefully polished oxfords dangling from his fingertips. He still knew better than to wear shoes on his mother’s floors.

“Oh, now don’t you look handsome!”

Viktor couldn’t help the little flush of happiness at his mother’s praise, even as he cursed himself a bit for that automatic reaction. What was it about him that craved every scrap of affection he could scrounge?

“Huh, surprised to see you own a decent suit. Can’t imagine you need it much in your line of work,” his father said as he sauntered into view.

Victor felt the tiny spark of happiness fade at the words. “I do occasionally have to attend formal events,” he said carefully, not meeting his father’s eyes. “Graduating from college, for example. You’d have seen it had you been, ah, _ able _ to attend.”

“Goodness, Vitya, your cousin was getting married in Majorca that weekend. To that lawyer fellow of hers. You can’t have expected us to miss it,” Dimitri said dismissively. As if his only son’s college graduation had been a minor occasion, of little importance. Victor supposed that, to his father, an art school graduation probably _ had _ been a minor affair.

“Of course not,” he finally settled on in response, keeping his voice carefully neutral, although his grip on his shoes tightened.

Dmitri grunted, seemingly considering the matter settled. “I’m surprised OPRF does five-year reunions. Seems to me you kids all keep in touch on Facebook and the Twitter enough. Not a whole lot changes between 18 and 23.”

Victor couldn’t help the incredulous look he shot in his father’s direction. The elder Nikiforov had settled on the couch and was idly flipping through a magazine. Victor opened his mouth to retort but hesitated as his mother stepped in front of him, determinedly straightening the tie he’d already adjusted.

“Oh, Dima, he’s giving the alumni speech at the high school’s graduation ceremony. We talked about this,” she said lightly, still fluttering about Victor’s suit.

“Huh,” his father snorted, finally meeting his son’s eyes. “Didn’t they have a _ physicist _ do the alumni speech at your graduation ceremony?”

Victor’s collar was suddenly too tight; his eyes burned and skin chilled as he pulled away from his mother’s dithering hands. His work was on covers, in galleries; he'd paid his own way through school...

It didn't matter. It never would. 

“_Dima, _” Vasalisa hissed over her shoulder before turning back to watch Victor warily. “Darling, you know he doesn’t mean anything by that…”

“Of course he does, mama,” Victor heard himself saying wearily. “I don’t suppose either of you are bothering to come to the ceremony?” OPRF had given him a pair of tickets months ago, he’d mailed them to the house but…

“To a high school graduation?” His father scoffed. “Hardly appropriate without a relative walking the stage.”

Victor bit his cheek hard enough to sting. “Right,” he bit out. “I’ll be on the way then. If you’d just walk Makka later, I’ll get out her out of your hair as soon as the ceremony is over.” He strode toward the door, bending to slip his shoes on.

“Vitya, your father can drive…”

“No need,” he said, cutting her off more sharply than he’d intended. “It won’t be the first time I’ve made the walk in a suit.” Then he was outside, taking great gulps of air as he blinked into the afternoon sun, trying to stave off the tears that threatened to break free from his careful control. 

_ Funny _, he thought to himself as he hurried down the familiar path to the high school. 

_ They used to tell me I could be anything I wanted when I grew up._

**August 2016, Baltimore**

***Friday, 9:00 a.m.**

Yuuri grinned as Phichit trailed behind him, flipping through the program guide as they dodged through the registration crowd.

“Okay, so like, _ half _ the dub cast of _ The King and the Skater _ are here but looks like I’ll need to line up at _ least _90 minutes in advance if I want to do the group autograph session. So if you go pee while I watch your table around 10:45, I can get in line by 11:00, eat my lunch while I wait, then be back by 1:00 so you can go get a crab cake with Christophe…” the younger teen prattled on as they flashed their badges and made their way into the pre-show quiet of the Alley. Yuuri waved at a few acquaintances as Phichit continued. “…then as long as you’re back by, like 2:30 or 3:00ish, I can bop on over to the Morimoto signing, then be back in time to walk with you to your panel--oh, shoot, do you know who’s watching your table while we’re gone? I can text Chris, see if he can make an introduction to make sure you’re comfortable with the volunteer…”

Yuuri shook his head, chuckling as he dropped his shoulder bag into the chair behind his booth before turning to place both hands on his friend’s shoulder. “Peach. Breathe.”

Phichit paused, then inhaled theatrically. “Sorry,” he offered with a rueful chuckle. “I’ve never been to a show with this many anime guests before.”

Yuuri smiled, flicking the little hamster charm dangling from Phichit’s badge. “Just as long you have fun, okay? Your schedule sounds fine. Chris has someone to watch the booth while we’re gone, just relax!”

“Is that _ my _ sweet, anxious, cinnamon roll of an artist telling someone _ else _ to relax? _ Mon dieu_, wonders shall never cease!”

Yuuri didn’t even bother turning around as he felt a hand snaking far too low over his backside. “Does the Alley head know that his assistant is sexually harassing the artists?”

Phichit giggled at Yuuri’s bored tone, and Yuuri could almost imagine the faux pout on Chris’s face.

“_Oooof. Mi amor! _ The _ artists? _ I am _ devastated _that you think my affections are lavished on others when the thought of your handsome face and charming assets keeps me so deliciously warm at night!”

Yuuri finally broke, dropping his beet red face into his hands. “I hate you. I hate you so much.”

“_Lying!” _ Christophe sing-songed. “Told you I could get him to crack,” he murmured in his normal voice, finally stepping into Yuuri’s field of view and accepting a ten-dollar-bill from a still snickering Phichit.

“Traitor,” Yuuri said, sticking his tongue out at the younger of his two friends. 

“Right. Yes. Absolutely a traitor and I will totally grovel for your forgiveness but I am definitely gonna need to owe you that grovel because I need to get a photo with that Korra cosplayer _ right _ now.”

Yuuri laughed, rolling his eyes as Phichit dashed away, iPhone already out and ready. At his side, Chris shook his head, a grin on his handsome features.

“Enthusiastic, isn’t he? I remember those days,” the blond said.

“You’re 21, not 50, Chris,” Yuuri replied, eyes on the table as he adjusted his stacks of comics.

Chris sighed. “I _ feel _ old. Hard to find romance when you’re stuck playing the adult in the room.”

Yuuri _ hummed _ skeptically. “I find it hard to believe that _ you _ have trouble finding a guy.” He missed the odd glance Chris shot his way, as well as the slight slump to his friend’s shoulders.

“You’d be surprised how hard it is to get _ some _ people to notice a fellow…”

Yuuri finally looked back up, surprised at the unusual wistfulness in Chris’s deep voice.

“Ah, but never mind me,” the older man said briskly, flashing his usual wicked grin. “Did you get the updated panel notes I sent you?”

Yuuri nodded, a flash of nerves creeping up his spine as he shuffled through his portfolio. “Yeah.”

“And?”

“I told you it’s fine, Christophe.”

“I don’t have to sit you near him if you don’t feel comfortable…”

“I’ll be _ fine _, I can handle one panel.” 

He’d done this before, after all, with other artists. What was the worst that could happen?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm behind on last week's comments, I'm so sorry! I started a new job this week and the training location is a two hour round trip from my house. I'm wiped :( I do read them all and will reply soon! Thank you all for reading, commenting and kudosing! Your kindness keeps me writing!
> 
> Up Next:  
Yuuri! Maybe don't drink out of Chris's water bottle.  
Gee, who else could be on this panel?  
Banquet nod #2, coming right up!


	6. Raise your glass!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drunk Yuuri makes his appearance!  
We're full circle from reverse-banquet to banquet-nod now!

**August 2016, Baltimore**

**Friday, 5:00 p.m.**

Eight hours later, it was becoming increasingly evident that Yuuri _ could not_, in fact, handle one panel. At least not one where he’d be seated at the same table as Victor _ Fucking _ Nikiforov.

“Are you actually leaving for the panel at some point?” asked the Alley volunteer, brow furrowed in confusion, the teen’s heavy, dark brows nearly meeting in the center.

_ Seung-gil _, some distant part of Yuuri’s brain provided. He’d met the taciturn volunteer back in Detroit, but this was probably the longest sentence he’d ever heard the younger boy string together. Seung-gil’s flat grey eyes slid over to Phichit, some silent communication passing between the pair.

“Yes, he’s leaving!” Phichit chirped. “I’m Phichit, I left my number in case you need anything! You can text me! Thank you _ so _ much for watching the table, feel free to help yourself to the snacks in the cooler!”

“I’m good,” Seung-gil grunted, settling into the chair.

Yuuri dithered for another long moment before Phichit snagged his elbow and began dragging him out of the Alley. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea. Everyone else on the panel is older than me, people won’t want to hear from some college kid…”

Chris caught up to them, looping his arm through Yuuri’s other elbow. “He’s freaking out, hmm?” the tall blonde said over the top of his head.

“Yep!” Phichit affirmed, popping the ‘p’ sound with noticeable relish.

Chris rattled a pink water bottle that Yuuri recognized as the prize from the Sailor Moon scavenger hunt they’ve been running in the Dealer’s Hall. “Liquid courage?” the man asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Yuuri rolled his eyes. “I’m _ not _ freaking out,” he muttered as they approached the panel room. There was already a sizeable crowd waiting to be let in, but that wasn’t what caused him to stutter to a halt. Chris and Phichit followed suit a half beat later, their forward progress stymied by Yuuri’s suddenly iron grip on their arms.

Standing by the entrance was an unmistakable figure. Two of them, in fact.

“Ah,” Christophe said. “I see Victor met up with Feltsman. Vic’s done a handful of covers for _ Jubileny Press _ ; I hear Yakov’s looking to hire him on full time.” He turned to glance in Yuuri’s direction. “I hear that _ Jubileny_’s looking for writers and storyboard artists, too. It’s mostly established franchise adaptations, but they do original works occasionally, too.”

As they watched, Feltsman patted Victor on the back before heading into the panel room. The sight sparked the banked coals of panic that had been sitting in Yuuri’s stomach, waiting for ignition. “It’s just supposed to be a bunch of kids and art fans in there!” he spluttered.

Chris eyed him in surprise. “Maybe in Columbus or Boston, but a lot of scouts and industry leaders come to this show, Yuuri. It’s why I wanted you on this panel in the first place. We _ talked _about this.”

Yuuri couldn’t admit that he’d been only half listening while Chris had wheedled him into the panel, the rest of his attention caught up in an episode of _ The Great British Bake-Off. _

He gritted his teeth, feeling Phichit’s eyes on the back of his neck. “I changed my mind, give me the damned bottle.”

***

There were two other artists sitting on the panel, but Victor was really only paying attention to the man sitting furthest from him. Both the man’s face and name were vaguely familiar, but it was the way Yuuri Katsuki seemed to simultaneously flirt with and shrink from the audience that had Victor fascinated. Chris was sitting at the center of the table, moderating with a sort of sly charm that had the quartet of artists relaxing despite the crowded room.

The artists’ bios were rotating on the projector screen in the corner of the room, and Victor took advantage of a long, rambling question from the audience to take a peek at Katsuki’s. The younger man had a charming style, smacking strongly of formal training of some sort, but still unique enough to pique Victor’s interest. There was a URL for a Tumblr account and Victor surreptitiously plugged it into his phone under the table. His eyes widened as the screen loaded. Some sort of webcomic with a trio of magical animals…he could barely restrain a coo of excitement as the adorable art unfolded on his screen. And…_ yes _, he realized, this was the artist behind the work he’d noticed back in Detroit.

_ How had Yuuri Katsuki floated under his radar for so long? _

As if the other artist could hear his thoughts, Katsuki turned his head, his eyes glinting a strange reddish-brown in the fluorescent lighting as he held Victor’s gaze for a long moment. Fleetingly, he found himself wondering if Yuuri Katsuki had any interest in men.

Victor blinked, breaking eye contact in his surprise at the errant thought. How long had it been since he’d even _ thought _ about dating?

A clearing throat broke through his reverie, and he startled, suddenly noticing that Christophe was staring at him with an arched brow.

“Ah, sorry,” he coughed out, leaning towards his mic. “Can you repeat the question?”

***

“What had you so spaced out, Vic? You’re usually so focused during panels…” There was an undertone of frustration to Chris’s question. “Was it because of Feltsman? Because I heard through the grapevine that you’re practically a shoo-in for the cover contract on the new _ King and the Skater _ spin-off…”

_ “You’re _ working on the _ KatS _spin-off?” someone yelped excitedly.

Victor turned, meeting the friendly grin of a dark-complected teenager. Hovering behind the boy, however, was a familiar face. He turned on his brightest smile as he extended a hand to the younger of the pair. “If all goes well, I will be,” he admitted. “I’ve worked with _ Jubileny Press _ before, but this would be my first official cover run. I have a few _ King and the Skater _prints at my booth if you want something signed…” He trailed off as Yuuri Katsuki turned away, making his way towards the corner of the room where one of Chris’s friends was mixing drinks in the ubiquitous red Solo cups.

“Ah, right, Nikiforov Arts right?” the boy said hastily, his eyes darting towards Katsuki. “I’ll, ah, I’ll swing by tomorrow!” With a hasty wave, he followed his friend.

“Was it something I said?” Victor asked, feeling a bit hurt as he watched the younger pair chattering over their drinks in the corner.

Chris hummed thoughtfully at his side. “Nothing you said _ today_, I don’t believe.”

Victor winced. “Ah. Katsuki’s familiar with my, ah, diva era?” College had been rough, money had been tight, and he’d had to mend more than one fence with friends and artists he’d offended in his drive to sell more, make more, _ be _ more. Not that any of that drive and effort and success had mattered to the people he wanted to notice the most...

Chris eyed him strangely. “Something like that…” he replied slowly. “Listen, I don’t know how much you remember, but two years ago…”

“Vitya!”

Victor turned, catching Georgi as his friend nearly crashed into him. “Is that a new wig?” he asked, squinting at his friend’s shaggy black hairstyle and bandaged forearms.

“The old one didn’t quite work for Dazai,” Georgi replied nonchalantly. “But that’s not important. Have you seen Anya? She’s not answering my texts and we need to coordinate for the _ Re:Zero _ shoot tomorrow and I’m not entirely certain her shoes are finished…”

“Ah, right, she went to bed,” Victor said sheepishly, steeling himself for Georgi’s disappointment.

Sure enough, the other man slumped. “I see. She didn’t tell me…”

Chris linked his arm through Georgi’s. “Shall we peruse the selections, _ mon cher?” _he asked breezily, already tugging Georgi towards the corner, throwing a wink over his shoulder. Victor smiled his thanks, then glanced around the party room, searching for familiar faces.

_ “You!” _ a voice called out. _ “Victor Nikiforov!” _

Victor spun, surprised to see Yuuri Katsuki bearing down on him, a finger pointing accusingly. The artist halted within arm’s reach, poking said finger into the center of Victor’s chest.

“Um…yes?” Victor asked tentatively. Katsuki’s eyes were glittering, that strange reddish hue rendered more amber-gold up close.

“You used to _ like _ being an artist,” the younger man said, his hand unfolding from its accusatory pointing and settling flat against Victor’s chest.

“You think I don’t like being an artist?” Victor asked, his heart thumping heavily beneath Yuuri’s hand.

Dark hair tumbled wildly as Yuuri shook his head. “I don’t think it’s very fun for you anymore. That’s why you’re so...so...” he trailed off sadly, his hand now clenching Victor’s shirt. “I think it’s just work, just…just something you do because you’re good at it. And you’re so, _ so _ good at it,” Yuuri said, a tiny frown creasing his handsome features.

“You…you think I’m good?” Victor replied, surprised to hear his voice crack slightly. Why was this boy…this _ man _ having such an effect on him? How did Yuuri Katsuki _ know_? They’d never even spoken, yet the other artist had cut right through to the heart of his growing discontent. He’d spent so long trying to prove that he could make it, trying to show his parents that he hadn’t made a mistake in his path… When was the last time he’d created something he _ enjoyed? _

“Of _ course _ I think you’re good,” Yuuri replied, sounding incredulous at the audacity of Victor’s query. “You ARE good. So good. The best. I just don’t think you _ like _ what you do.” 

Yuuri’s hand was still warm on Victor’s chest and he grasped the man’s wrist gently, keeping the hand in place. “Do _ you _ enjoy what you do?” he asked softly. 

Yuuri’s brow furrowed in thought. “I wish I was better,” he replied. “But that’s why I’m in school. Still...I love it. It’s _ fun_. Conventions are fun. Drawing is _ fun_.” He smiled suddenly, his face open and bright. Victor felt like the sun had suddenly come out after a long storm. “You should have fun, too, Victor!”

“How?” he heard himself asking, mesmerized by the passion shining through the other man’s words. 

Yuuri appeared lost in thought for a long moment, then bounced forward, throwing his arms over Victor’s shoulders. “We should work together on something!”

Victor blinked, dazed by the sudden proximity to Yuuri’s flushed cheeks and brilliant smile. “You...you want to be partners?”

“Yes! Be my partner, Victor!”

***

On the other side of the room, Christophe had slumped against a wall, shoulder to shoulder with a man in a fairly impressive cosplay. Phichit settled in on Chris’s other side, passing off one of the beers he’d snagged from the cooler.

“Thanks,” Chris said morosely, clinking his bottle against Phichit’s before turning back to whatever he and the cosplayer had been watching before Phichit had arrived.

“What’s got you so gloomy yet fascinated?” he asked teasingly, nudging his shoulder against the older man’s.

To his surprise, it was the cosplayer who replied. “An unexpected romance,” the man said, his voice deep as he raised his Solo cup in a mock toast. Chris frowned but raised his own bottle in salute. Phichit followed the direction of their stares and jolted in surprise.

“What the hell was in that Sailor Moon bottle?” he choked out, watching as Yuuri talked animatedly to Victor Nikiforov. Yuuri’s arms were around Nikiforov’s neck and the taller artist was staring down at Yuuri with a sort of bemused fondness. “I thought Yuuri _ hated _ him! I thought Nikiforov was an asshole!”

“A friend of Katsuki’s?” the cosplayer asked, a bit of an edge to his voice as he leaned forward to extend his free hand. “Georgi Popovich,” he said in introduction.

“Phichit Chulanont,” he replied. “You’re part of Nikiforov’s crew, right?”

Georgi flashed a tight grin. “Most days, anyway. He has his moments, but we’ve been friends since high school.”

“And how many moments like…_ this _ does Nikiforov typically have?” Phichit asked, waving his arm vaguely in Yuuri and Victor’s direction.

Georgi raised a dark eyebrow, managing to look coolly contemplative despite his costuming and cosmetics. “Honestly? I don’t know the last time I saw him smile like that. He’s…pretty businesslike most of the time.”

Chris snorted. “Is that what we’re calling it these days?”

Georgi’s expression turned cold. “Sure you’re not projecting there, Giacometti?”

“He’s my friend, too, Popovich. As is Yuuri. Sue me for being worried.”

“I think it’s kind of sweet,” Georgi said softly.

Chris sighed, his shoulders slumping. “_Merde_. I can’t even disagree. _ C’est la vie_, I suppose,” he finished enigmatically.

Phichit glanced rapidly between the pair of men. “Sooooo, you don’t think we should maybe…put a stop to whatever’s going on out there?”

Chris raised his Solo cup, a resigned expression crossing his handsome features. “Why trifle with fate, _ mon amis?” _

Silently, still watching the giddily dancing pair, the trio of men drank. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the encouragement, folks! Training is over as of tomorrow, so my commute will literally drop in half after this weekend. I'm so ready! And, because I have no sense of self-preservation, I got a puppy! I've been planning on getting him since well before I was offered the new job, the timing just worked out kind of wonky! But, he's passed out right now, so I was able to answer comments and get this up in time!  
I did end up raising the chapter count on this from 9 to 10 as the final chapter was getting unwieldy! Hopefully I'll have time to get 9 and 10 polished and edited in the next couple weeks! 7 and 8 are fully written/edited so I don't anticipate any delays!
> 
> Up Next:  
Hangovers!  
Smitten Victor!  
Reluctantly supportive Chris!


	7. Turning Points

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri has an interesting morning.   
Victor Nikiforov: Booth Babe

**August 2016, Baltimore**

**Saturday**

Yuuri woke up with a massive headache, his convention lanyard wrapped around his waist like a belt, and a smudged phone number written on his arm in Sharpie.

“What the  _ fuck _ was in that water bottle?” he muttered hoarsely to himself, wincing at the snicker that answered his rhetorical question.

“Well,  _ this _ water bottle is actually full of water,” Phichit chirped, too brightly for the morning hour. “You should drink it, eat  _ this _ , and take these.” The teen was kneeling at Yuuri’s bedside, extending hands filled with water, a banana and a pair of white tablets.

“You get to stay in the will,” Yuuri groaned, taking his friend’s offerings.

“Oh, Yuuri. Of course, I do. I  _ wrote _ the will!”

“An iron-clad document,” Yuuri said dryly, finally sitting up in the bed. Phichit settled beside him, leaning his head against Yuuri’s shoulder. “Sorry you had to see…” Yuuri waved his arm vaguely, “ah,  _ whatever _ happened last night. I was a little…”

“Stressed. Dude, I get it. You could have  _ told _ me you like him, though. I mean, I thought we were besties!”

Yuuri blinked. What the hell had he  _ done _ last night? “Um, ‘like him’?”

“You know. Nikiforov.”

Yuuri spat out the gulp of water he’d just taken.

“Well, I’d  _ already _ taken a shower, but thanks for that, Katsuki.”

“Fuck, sorry, sorry, I just… _ what? _ ”

“Ah, crap. You have no clue what I’m talking about do you?” Phichit asked with a wince. “Dude, you two were all over each other last night…he gave you his number and everything.”

Yuuri felt the blood drain from his face and he lurched to his feet and toward the bathroom. Dropping to his knees, he tried desperately to curb the heaving sensation in his stomach.

“Yuu? I’m sorry. It’s okay, really! You two were super cute! And nothing happened! Nikiforov made sure you had someone to walk you back to your room. Total gentleman, which,  _ shocker,  _ right?” Phichit’s voice was apologetic as the teenager hovered in the bathroom doorway. “I mean, you  _ told  _ me about how  _ mean _ he was to you, but he couldn’t stop  _ staring  _ at you last night! Weird, huh?”

“Peach, I love you, but please stop talking for a minute…” Yuuri begged, his head throbbing as he struggled to control his breathing. The room fell silent, though he could feel his friend still hovering in the doorway as he pushed his way to his feet. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he turned around slowly, a pang of guilt running through him when he saw Phichit’s hunched shoulders.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that,” he finally said softly. “Thank you for taking care of me last night.”

Phichit perked up slightly. “Of course. That’s what friends do! But…you should know, it really was mostly Vic… _ ah… _ Nikiforov last night. He really did seem to like you…”

Yuuri shook his head, wincing when it aggravated his headache. “Beer goggles. Or something like that. He probably didn’t even recognize me.”

Phichit frowned. “Fake. You two were on the same panel together yesterday.”

Yuuri turned the faucet on, splashing water on his face before speaking. “Well, I mean…the lights were really bright…and there’s no way he would have been able to see me from where he was sitting, so he probably just thought I was some groupie at the party…I gave him my card  _ years _ ago. If he’d recognized me, he wouldn’t have even talked to me. He was pretty clear when we first met that he wasn’t interested in anything  _ about _ me.”

When he looked back up, Phichit had an odd expression on his face.

“What?” he asked suspiciously.

“People change, Yuuri. You never know. He might surprise you…”

***

“You’re even more distracted than usual,” Anya huffed, narrowing her eyes in his direction.

Victor jumped, startled out of his steady perusal of Yuuri Katsuki’s still vacant booth. The Alley opened in thirty minutes and he’d been hoping to touch bases with the other artist before they were kept too busy with sales and fans. He’d also been hoping to get Yuuri’s number…a detail he’d forgotten last night, distracted by the way Yuuri kept staring at him while he’d written his name across the pale skin of Yuuri’s inner arm.

A deep sigh pulled his attention back from where it had once again wandered. “Ah, sorry, Anya. You were saying?”

The pretty brunette shook her head. “I wrote today’s schedule on the post-it under the tally sheet. You have most of the morning free if you want to wander, though I’ve two shoots in the afternoon.”

“Right,” Victor murmured, still eyeing Yuuri’s table. “Georgi was worried about your shoes.”

“My shoes are  _ fine; _ Georgi should focus on his own cosplays, _ ” _ Anya snapped. Victor turned, his attention fully on her for the first time that morning. “You have that panel on online fundraising sources at 6:00, so I’ll make sure to be back in time for you to get something to eat beforehand,” she continued, her voice businesslike as she rattled off the day’s routine, gaze focused down on her notebook for reference.

Victor hesitated a moment, unsure whether he should press her for anything personal. “Ah. Great. Thank you,” he settled on.

Anya looked up, eyes wide with surprise. “You’re…welcome?”

Victor winced. He tended to get a little hyper-focused on sales and networking at conventions, but was gratitude really that much of a rarity for him? He thought back to the previous night, back to Yuuri Katsuki looking up at him, asking him if he had  _ fun _ making art…

As if the thought had summoned the man, he finally caught movement at Yuuri’s table. “Anya, dearest, most organized light of my life, would you happen to know where those old  _ King and the Skater _ prints that I did a couple years back might be?”

And he was definitely not imagining the look of confused suspicion on Anya’s face, but she still pulled out the binder holding his older works, unerringly flipping to the handful of prints. He plucked out one of each, then hesitated, still uncertain whether he should say anything about the strange tension between his best friend and his assistant.  
  


“Alley opens in fifteen, Victor. If there’s anything you were wanting to do, now would be the time.” Anya’s voice was firm and Victor nodded in understanding.

“Right. I’ll just be right back then.”

Anya’s focus was already back to her notebook as he hurried across the aisle, prints cradled in his arm. 

***

“Don’t look, but he’s heading our way!”

Yuuri, of course, glanced up at Phichit’s stage-whisper. A bright, heart-shaped grin and impossibly pale hair filled his vision and he immediately spun around, putting those too-blue eyes out of his view. “Fuck. Why is he coming over here?  _ Is _ he coming over here? The Alley Ops table isn’t far, maybe he’s just looking for Christophe or going to the bathroom or…”

“Hiiiii~iiiii!”

Yuuri panicked, dropping to his knees and crawling beneath the table.

“Um, is everything okay?” Nikiforov’s voice sounded almost concerned, although that concern was definitely tinged with confusion.

“Oh! Sure, fine, fine!” Phichit said cheerily. “Yuuri’s just looking for a couple of charms he misplaced, thought maybe they were down there!”

Yuuri snagged a little pile of charms from the box beneath the table, vowing to buy Phichit a crab cake for his quick thinking. “Ah! Got ‘em!” He bounced back up, doing his best to look as if he hadn’t literally dived under a table at the sight of Victor Nikiforov. “Oh, Mr. Nikiforov, I, ah, didn’t see you there. Hi. What brings you here? I hope you sell lots of prints today! Um, not that you ever don’t. Because. You know. You’re you. Right. Um. Right.”

Phichit stepped on his foot and he snapped his mouth shut before his rambling could get any inaner. Victor tilted his head, smiling weakly down at him.

“Ah, thank you?” the older artist replied, confusion clear in his voice. Then he straightened his back, smoothly extending a stack of prints in Phichit’s direction with a dazzling smile aimed at Yuuri. “I thought I’d bring these over. Your friend mentioned that he was a fan of  _ The King and the Skater  _ so…”

Phichit’s eyes widened at the proffered prints. “Oh, whoa, these are awesome! You didn’t have them out in Detroit!” the teen crowed as he shuffled through the trio of images. “Uh, how much do I owe you?”

Victor shook his head. “A gift. If I end up with the sequel contract, maybe you could pre-order them? Help out my sales?” Phichit nodded furiously, already tucking the prints away in his convention bag as Victor shifted his attention in Yuuri’s direction.

Yuuri felt his headache return full force as he faced those too-blue eyes, far closer than they had been since that day two years ago, when the smiling man in front of him had hurled harsh words at him in hissing rage. The Victor Nikiforov of here and now looked much more like the long-haired teen he’d once admired from across a table in a Chicago suburb. The jarring juxtaposition of past and present left his hungover mind aching.

“That was kind of you,” he muttered, confused as Victor lingered, despite his supposed errand being complete. Victor’s smile grew wider yet somehow softer as he continued peering down at Yuuri. “Um, if you wanted a print or comic or something in exchange, you’re welcome to take one...” Yuuri continued, flustered.  _ Why was Victor still there?? _

“Oh! Yes! I’d love to get a comic! Need to know each other’s strengths, hm?” Victor poked idly through the stacks of books, picking up Yuuri’s most recent book, a goofy tale of a trio of magical pets that Yuuri would absolutely never be able to admit had been partially inspired by Victor’s old poodle art. He shook off his confusion at Victor’s words, reaching for his silver Sharpie with an unsteady hand.

“Ah, sure?” he replied, uncertain as he handed the signed book to Victor, only to be greeted with another blinding grin.

“Great! Thank you!” Victor gushed, sincerity dripping from every word. “Oh!” he continued. “What are you doing after the Alley closes? We should meet up, figure out how all of this is going to work!”

“What?” Yuuri couldn’t help asking, the question tumbling unchecked from his lips.

“Unless you’re busy, of course,” Victor rushed to add, his face suddenly strangely vulnerable.

“Ah, no, no…af-after the Alley closes, that’d be…that’d be fine,” Yuuri rushed to add, ignoring the gleeful look on Phichit’s face, visible even from the corner of his eye.  _ What was he even agreeing to??  _ Too late for questions. He’d already said yes...

“Great!” Victor said, his countenance brightening. “I’ll, ah, e-mail you, then? Time and place, all that?”

Yuuri rushed to snag one of his cards off the table, hand trembling.

“Oh! No worries, I already have one!” Victor chirped and Yuuri flushed, remembering the card he’d handed over at that long-ago party after spilling his drink down Victor’s shirt.

“Right,” he said flatly. Victor didn’t seem to notice, turning back to glance at the doors.

“I should get back before the hordes descend!” the silver-blond said with a sigh, Yuuri nodding dumbly in acquiescence. “Later, Yuuu~uuri!”

Yuuri waited until Victor had drifted back to his booth before dropping into his chair. “What the actual fuck just happened?” he asked plaintively, ignoring Phichit’s gleeful chuckle.

“Tooooold you!”

**October 2016, Detroit**

“It’s strange, I didn’t see Nikiforov Arts  _ listed _ on the Alley program and yet…”

Victor turned at the familiar voice, careful not to drop the precariously balanced tray of drinks. “I don’t have a booth this year,” he replied calmly.

Chris eyed the artist’s lanyard speculatively. “Strange, because that’s definitely an Artist ribbon on your badge. Scoping out the competition, are we? I didn’t think Tanya was in the habit of giving out freebie badges…” He smirked a bit as Victor bristled. “Or are you here for a different reason? One with ridiculously huge eyes and a particularly charming style, perhaps?”

Victor felt himself blushing and hastened to turn back in the Alley’s direction. “Yuuri offered me a spare badge, so I’m helping out. That’s  _ all. _ I haven’t attended a show without tabling in…” he hesitated, trying to think. “Honestly, not since high school.” From the corner of his eye, he could see Chris’s smirk slide into something more sympathetic.

“So, the great Victor Nikiforov is playing booth babe. Never thought I’d see the day,” Chris said, his voice softly teasing. “Things with Yuuri are going well then?”

Victor shrugged, the bubble teas jostling precariously with his movements. “I honestly have no clue, Chris. He’s…It’s like…half the time he treats me like a mentor. Like he’s  _ learning _ from me. Like I’m some intimidating figure, which, I’m really not…” he trailed off plaintively.

“I won’t say  _ I told you so, _ but I did warn you about that reputation of yours,” Chris replied frankly as they walked. Victor winced but didn’t say anything. “You said  _ half _ the time,” Chris finally continued.

“Hmm?”

“You said  _ half _ the time he seems scared of you. So, what about the other half?”

Victor smiled softly, thinking of the way Yuuri could be passionate about his work in one moment, then a shrinking violet the next. Either way, Yuuri was talented. And charming.

And so lovely...

“Oh  _ mon dieu _ , you have got it  _ bad _ ,” Chris muttered at Victor’s side. “Is  _ he _ aware of this? Because, Vic, I’m warning you...Yuuri’s a sweetie, but the guy doesn’t always pick up on hints…”

***

“I can’t believe you sent Victor Nikiforov to buy you bubble tea!”

Yuuri groaned, his head pillowed on his arms on top of the table. “Don’t remind me. Please?”

“You have that boy wrapped around your finger!” Phichit giggled in delight.

“Tha-that’s not…he was just bored and needed something to do and he kept rearranging all my prints so…”

“So you sent him off to run errands for you. Oh em gee. I’m dying. Literally dead right now.”

Yuuri pulled his head off the table long enough to glare at his best friend. “It’s not  _ that _ funny.”

Phichit snorted. “It’s pretty fucking funny.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes. “I honestly didn’t expect him to come. We’ve been talking about working on a story together ever since August and I just mentioned I had the spare badge if he wanted to attend…”

“And, like magic, he shows up. I’m telling you, Yuuri. He’s into you. He’s  _ so _ into you that he’ll drive from Chicago for a show he’s not even  _ doing _ just to be your gopher. That’s above and beyond wanting to work on a project with you. I’m telling you, that boy has it baaaaad.”

Yuuri dropped his head back into his arms. “I hate you.”

Phichit poked the curve of his cheek. “Liar. Is he staying at your parents’ place?”

Yuuri groaned, a death rattle of a sound. “Yes. I’m going to die. He’s going to be right there and I’m going to actually die if I have to see him in the hot tub.”

“Ah ha! You  _ do _ like him!”

“He’s very hot and very talented and I’m very single and very gay. That doesn’t mean I’m in love with him, it just means I have  _ eyes. _ ”

“Defensive much? Look. I’m just saying, maybe he’s not just after you for your sequential art major. He took you out in Baltimore, right?”

“To talk about putting together a sample to submit to  _ Jubileny Press. _ ”

“Talking about a sample submission required hand-dyed roses and a stroll around the harbor?” Phichit’s tone was skeptical and Yuuri raised his head again to glare at his friend. “Yuuri, he  _ likes _ you!”

“Sorry, are we interrupting something?”

Yuuri spun at the sound of Chris’s voice, horrified to see Victor standing beside the blond, looking flustered.

“Oh! Nothing, nothing important! Just…Alley stuff, y’know…” Yuuri babbled, feeling his cheeks burn as Victor’s cool blue gaze stayed on him. “Victor! Ah, thanks for the drinks?”

As if suddenly remembering they were in his hands, Victor thrusted the tray in Yuuri’s direction. “Right. No problem. I’m just… going to go check out some of the other booths, see if I know anyone…” he trailed off as if he wanted to add something, but shook his head and walked away instead.

Yuuri watched Victor leave, the tray of drinks clutched loosely to his chest. “How long…”

_ “He’s very hot and very talented and I’m very single and very gay,” _ Chris parroted solemnly. Yuuri slumped over, the drinks forgotten until Phichit rushed to rescue them from Yuuri’s hands.

“Oh god, he won’t want to work with me now…” Yuuri moaned, burying his face in his newly freed hands.

“Is  _ that _ what you’re worried about?” Chris asked.

“What does  _ that _ mean?” Yuuri asked suspiciously.

Phichit slurped noisily at his drink. “Yuuri’s in denial,” he said around a mouthful of tapioca. Yuuri glared at the teen, but Phichit ignored him. “I keep telling him Nikiforov’s interested in more than just his  _ art _ .”

“He’s  _ not _ . Chris, tell him. You saw Vic…  _ Nikiforov _ the first time we met!”

“And I see him  _ now _ ,” Chris pointed out calmly. “Have you two even  _ talked _ about that night?”

“No,” Yuuri said sullenly. “I didn’t want to remind him that I spilled a drink all over him.”

“I seem to remember Victor being more of an ass than a spilled drink warranted,” Chris said musingly. “Yet you still want to work with him…”

“He’s…I mean, he’s just…he’s  _ Victor Nikiforov, _ ” Yuuri spluttered, as if that were enough of an explanation.

“Ah, but even the great Victor Nikiforov is a mere mortal. He has flaws. And he has a heart, same as the rest of us. Do yourself a favor and  _ talk _ to him. At the very least, working out that whole confrontation will help you work together.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a touch late, yesterday was busier than I expected and I just didn't get a chance to post!  
Thank you as always for the comments and kudos, I do see every one of them! I have tomorrow off, so I'm going to try to catch up on some of the comments soon, I swear!!
> 
> Up Next:   
Secrets are revealed at the Katsuki B&B  
Sometimes the best thing to do, is just start over...


	8. Meet me in the middle...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things.  
Happen.

**October 2016, Detroit**

“You should probably go save that too-pretty friend of yours before he drowns himself.”

Yuuri glanced up from his tablet, surprised to see his sister leaning against the doorway to his bedroom. “Huh?” he asked intelligently.

Mari rolled her eyes. “You know. Tall, too blond, follows you around like a sad puppy?”

“ _ Victor? _ ” he asked incredulously. “What are you talking about? He doesn’t…he’s not a…”

Mari snorted. “Whatever. He’s been in the hot tub for an hour. Mom’s worried.”

Yuuri sighed. “He’s 23, Mari.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s not a puppy. Go fetch him, eh?”

“I thought  _ Victor _ was the puppy. Shouldn’t he be playing fetch?” Yuuri asked as he pushed his way to his feet.

“Pfft. As if you think you’re fooling me. Puppies.  _ Both _ of you,” Mari replied with a smirk, turning to walk back down the hall toward the kitchen.

Yuuri shook his head, nudging his door shut to change into his swim trunks. But when he finished dressing, he found himself hesitating, leaning his head back against his door. He turned the day over in his mind, trying to view Victor’s actions through the lens that both Chris and Phichit seemed convinced of.  _ Could _ Victor Nikiforov have so drastically changed his opinion of Yuuri in barely two years? He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror across the room and frowned, unimpressed. Sure, he was nearly 20 now, more established in the convention circuit, but still…this was  _ Victor Nikiforov.  _ He shook his head, then squared his shoulders before heading out to the B&B’s outdoor hot tub.

The steam from the tub swirled in the cool evening air and Yuuri paused, admitting to himself that the sight of Victor leaning back to look up at the stars was causing more than a slight increase in his pulse. Victor looked up as Yuuri started to step into the tub, his eyes startlingly blue even in the haze of steam.

“Sorry. If you want to be alone, I can leave…” Yuuri started to offer, but Victor shook his head.

“I think I’ve been alone too long…” the other artist murmured quietly.

“Ah, right. My sister said you’d been out here for a while…” Yuuri said, trailing off when Victor’s mouth twisted into an amused smirk. Yuuri sat, feeling as if he’d missed something.

“Yuuri, what do you want me to be to you?” Victor asked suddenly. Yuuri looked up, startled to realize that Victor had shifted closer to him, their shoulders nearly touching in the damp heat.

“I…what…I don’t…”

“A mentor? A friend?” Victor leaned closer, his eyes lingering on Yuuri’s lips. “Something…more?” There was no disguising the meaning of Victor’s words and Yuuri felt the wild urge to grab on to what the other man was offering with both hands. 

Possibly _literally_ with both hands. 

Instead, Yuuri’s senses caught up to him and he leaned back, not missing the flash of disappointment in those too-blue eyes.

“You used to  _ hate _ me…” Yuuri whispered.

Shock crossed Victor’s face, replacing the disappointment. “What?”

Yuuri forced himself to scoot over a few inches on the bench, putting distance between himself and Victor. “The first time we spoke. You made it pretty clear how you felt about me,” Yuuri muttered, determinedly looking down into the bubbling water. He heard sloshing as Victor shifted but didn’t look up until the other artist touched his shoulder.

“I…You thought I  _ hated _ you?” Victor sounded genuinely stunned and Yuuri finally glanced up. “Yuuri…I adored your art before I met you! And then I saw you on the panel and I…I knew I had to work with you. Had to  _ meet _ you…”

It was Yuuri’s turn to blink. “Victor…” he said slowly. “That…that wasn’t the first time we met.”

Victor stirred, turning to face Yuuri more fully, his brow furrowed in confusion. “We didn’t meet in Baltimore? But…I…I would remember meeting you. I  _ would _ ,” he said fervently, as if trying to convince both of them of the truth of his statement.

Yuuri laid his head back against the stone surrounding the tub, laughing under his breath. “Oh, we met in Baltimore. Just…not  _ this _ August.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Honestly, I should be glad you don’t remember. I never ended up having to pay for your shirt.” He sat up slightly, smiling wryly in Victor’s direction.

Dawning understanding seemed to rise in Victor’s eyes, bright blue even in the dim lighting. “That…that was  _ you? _ God, Yuuri, I was so drunk and upset that night, I don’t remember Chris’s party at all.” His thin lips twisted in a pout and Yuuri felt the absurd need to comfort the other man. Then Victor gasped, horror reflected in his handsome features. “Chris read me the Riot Act the next morning. Told me…told me I was being an ass… Yuuri, if I said something to you, if…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t in a good place and…I’m  _ sorry _ .”

For a moment, Yuuri considered telling Victor what he’d said. Considered telling him how it had felt to meet his idol, only to have his heart crushed by Victor’s words. Instead, he patted Victor’s arm awkwardly. “It’s…it’s  _ fine _ ,” he said firmly, instead, willing himself to believe his own words. “I was just starting out and…you didn’t say anything that wasn’t true, I suppose. You’ve been nothing but kind these last couple months, don’t worry about it.”

With that, Yuuri rose, water sluicing down his chest as he heaved himself out of the water and grabbed for his towel. He glanced back down at Victor, who was watching him with wide eyes, still looking upset. “Look, it’s in the past. We can’t be…we can’t  _ work _ together if we dwell on it. So, ahm…goodnight, Victor. Don’t stay in too long. My sister was worried.” He turned away, quietly slipping through the door into the hallway that would lead back to his room.

***

Victor sat for a moment, stunned. What had he said two years ago? He frantically searched his memory, hating that he’d somehow  _ forgotten _ meeting the young man that had spent the last several months so firmly lodged in his thoughts.

_ Glorious whiskey-brown eyes, wide with shock… _

No, he realized now.

With  _ hurt. _

He scrambled his way out of the tub, ignoring his towel as he trailed after Yuuri in a rush, suddenly frantic to make amends. He caught up to Yuuri in the hall, barely managing to snag the younger artist’s elbow before Yuuri slipped into his room.

Yuuri turned and now those whiskey eyes were wide with shock instead of pain.

“It’s not okay,” Victor said lowly. “It’s not okay because…because I wasn’t in a good place but that doesn’t mean I had any right to upset you. I don’t…I don’t know what I said. But…Yuuri…Yuuri I know what it’s like to have the people you admire look down on what you do. Who you are. And if…if I did that to you then…”

Yuuri was still staring up at him, his damp, dark hair slicked away from his face, making his cheekbones look impossibly sharp.

Victor placed his hands on Yuuri’s shoulders, willing him to feel the sincerity thrumming through his veins. “I am  _ sorry _ . I’m sorry if I hurt you. Please,  _ please _ let me make it up to you.”

Yuuri shook his head, a low, incredulous laugh escaping his plush lips. “You have,” he replied cryptically. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the two of them stared at each other. Victor could have counted every one of Yuuri’s feathery lashes, could trace the path of each sliding droplet of water as he stood there, frozen, uncertain of his next move. Yuuri stepped closer, easing up onto his toes to press his lips softly against Victor’s. Just a brush, barely a touch, yet Victor felt a lightheadedness that surely had nothing to do with the heat of the water he’d been sitting in.

Seconds stretched and then the bubble popped, Yuuri pulling away with a tiny squeak before spinning around to finally flee into his room, leaving Victor chasing the ghost of a kiss with wondering fingertips.

Alone in the hallway, he smiled.

***

The Renaissance Center was only a 20-minute drive from the Katsukis’ B&B, they weren’t due in the Alley before 9:30, and yet Victor found himself wide awake at barely 5:00 a.m. A lifelong habit, he supposed. His father had been an early riser; probably still was, Victor mused. Dimitri Nikiforov would probably be thrilled that his son had at least inherited  _ something _ . With that thought, Victor swung his legs out of the plush bed, knowing that any hope of falling back to sleep had been dashed.

He slipped into the robe-like pajamas provided in the room, then crept on silent feet down to the common-room, searching for coffee or tea to take out onto the wide veranda. The room was mercifully empty, and he happily helped himself to the loose-leaf blend that sat alongside the Zujiroshi. He was tempted to buy one of the little hot water dispensers for his own apartment; instantly available hot water was a blessing in the early morning hours.

A jangling at the door caught his attention and he glanced up to see Yuuri’s sister pulling off her shoes, a tiny ball of fluff dancing at her side as she slipped into her house shoes.

“Good morning,” he said brightly, not wanting to startle her when she looked up.

His voice drew the attention of the miniature poodle, who bounced into the room, trailing its leash. He happily cooed for a moment at the little dog, glancing up at the sound of a clearing voice.

“That’s Vicchan. He’s technically the family dog, but he’s Yuuri’s, really,” the woman said dryly, leaning against the wall.

“He’s adorable,” Victor replied, his voice hushed as he gave in to Vicchan’s pleading wriggles for a head scratch.

“Yeah. Yuuri’s had a fixation on poodles for years,” the woman ( _ Mari,  _ he suddenly remembered) replied. Her gaze grew inscrutable. “There was some artist he used to admire when he was a kid. Drew poodles. And now,” she shrugged. “Well, I’m sure you’ve seen his comics.”

Victor nodded, slowly. An artist that used to draw poodles…Mari couldn’t mean…

“You’re up early,” Mari said, interrupting his thoughts.

“Ah, habit,” Victor admitted.

Mari nodded, as if she understood. “I’m going out on the porch. Coming?” she asked, bending down to unclip Vicchan’s leash. The little poodle bounced after her as she led the way, Victor already moving to follow. Mari slid the door carefully shut before producing a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and carelessly offering him one.

“Ah, no, thank you,” he said politely, receiving a shrug in return.

Mari leaned against the railing as she lit up, the plume of smoke obscuring her face for a moment. “My mum hates it, too,” she admitted as Victor settled next to her, his tea steaming in the autumn air. “But a girl has to have a few bad habits, hmm?”

Victor chuckled at her bluntness. “I suppose. Parents need  _ something _ to be disappointed in.”

Mari turned sharply in his direction, her amber eyes, so like Yuuri’s, narrowed. “Can’t imagine you have that problem,” she said slowly. “Attractive, personable,” she turned to look out at the sunrise before continuing, “successful.”

Victor could feel the edges of his careful smile cracking. “Ah. Right.”

Silence stretched between them for a few moments, Vicchan’s panting the only sound. Victor could feel Mari’s gaze on him as he sipped at his tea.

“Your brother is very talented,” he finally said, glancing over. Mari’s brow was raised skeptically, the only indication that she had recognized his deflection for what it was.

“He is,” she finally admitted. “This,” she said, waving her cigarette hazily to indicate the B&B, “was never going to be his future. He’s not…” she paused, thinking. “Practical. He’s a dreamer. Emotional.”

Victor opened his mouth, ready to leap to Yuuri’s defense.

“And that’s okay,” Mari continued. Victor closed his mouth with a snap. “He’s like you, I think. An artist in his soul.”

Victor hummed in agreement. “He is,” he said softly.

“He’s passionate. It’s hard to see sometimes, because he’s quiet, but…when he gives his heart to something, he’s all in.”

Victor sipped hastily at his rapidly cooling tea, feeling as if they were no longer discussing career choices. He glanced over to see Mari watching him with a tiny smirk.

“It’s something to keep in mind,” she said, stepping away from the railing to head back inside, Vicchan dancing at her feet. 

***

“Yuuri!”

Yuuri glanced up from the commission he’d been focusing on, blushing inexplicably when he saw Phichit staring down at him, idly flipping a pen in his hand.

“Hmmm?” he replied distractedly, turning back to fix a smudge.

“You haven’t looked up from that commission in an hour,” Phichit pointed out.

“Ah, I meant to work on it last night, but…” he trailed off, frowning as he fixed a line, yet again.

“But…” Phichit trailed off insinuatingly.

“But I didn’t,” Yuuri said firmly, hoping Phichit would let it go.

“Too distracted by pretty blond artists?” Phichit said teasingly. Of  _ course _ , he wasn’t going to let it go.

Yuuri sighed, setting the commission onto the table and stretching his hand. “Isn’t there a photo shoot you wanted to do?” he asked pointedly.

“Nope!” Phichit said gleefully. “The KaTS shoot isn’t until tomorrow morning and I did the Naruto shoot this morning so I’m good!”

Yuuri glanced up, catching sight of Victor chatting with an alley volunteer across the aisle. Unbidden, memories of the previous evening flashed in his mind and he felt himself flush.

“Yuuuuri!! My smol son! Tell Phichit absolutely everything!”

“Oh my god, Peach, I’m older than you,” Yuuri huffed, amused despite his feigned annoyance. “And there’s nothing to tell.”

“ _ Nothing _ is sure distracting you today,” Phichit teased.

“Maybe I just need caffeine,” Yuuri said, snagging a ten from the cash box and waggling it in his assistant’s direction. Phichit huffed but snagged the money.

“Fine. One dirty chai latte coming right up. But don’t think I’m letting you get out of talking, Mister!” the younger man huffed, standing to go.

“Thanks,” Yuuri said, smiling up at his friend before turning back to his work. A handful of shoppers kept him too busy to do much though, and he finally looked up in relief when he felt a body settle into the chair beside him.

“Ugh, thanks, I really need…” he trailed off when he realized it was Victor in the other seat. The tall artist peered with interest at the sketch.

“Commission?” Victor asked.

“Mmmm,” Yuuri offered in agreement.

“Ghibli, right?”

“Right. It’s, ah, from  _ Princess Mononoke _ .”

“Ah, right. I watched that in high school, I think. I liked  _ Spirited Away _ better though. Dragons and demons and witches!”

Yuuri shrugged. “They’re all good, in their own way, I think,” he said softly, reaching for his inking tools.

“Yuuri, I…”

“Yuuri! Here’s your…Oops!”

Victor and Phichit spoke at nearly the same time and Yuuri looked up, startled. Phichit was in front of the table, clutching the steaming paper cup in front of him and glancing rapidly between Yuuri and Victor.

“Y’know, I’m just gonna set this here and…go look around the Dealer’s Hall! You two have fun! Bye bye!”

“Phichit!” Yuuri called out, but the teenager had already scampered away, leaving him alone with Victor once more. 

***

Yuuri had been quiet throughout the morning and afternoon and Victor, Mari’s words still echoing in his mind, had tried to give Yuuri his space. Now though, he was determined to finish the conversation that had ended with the brief kiss that still seemed to thrum beneath his skin. Phichit’s brief interruption notwithstanding, they were as alone as a pair of artists could possibly be while tabling at a busy convention.

Victor held his tongue as Phichit turned tail, leaving a steaming coffee cup behind. Yuuri looked torn between annoyance and fond amusement as he took a sip before turning to hesitantly offer the cup to Victor.

“Ah, I’m okay, but thank you,” Victor demurred, though he was tempted to take the second-hand kiss that drinking from the same spot offered. Which,  _ wow, pathetic, Vitya, _ he berated himself. This wasn’t a time for half-planned, spur of the moment gestures. This was a time for him to be smooth. Suave. Charming.

“I like you,” he blurted out.

_ Perfect, you moron. What are you, 15? _

“A lot,” he added, compounding the gaffe.

Yuuri blushed, staring determinedly at the lid of the cup.

“And…and I’m so sorry I made such a terrible first impression,” Victor stammered, struggling to regain his composure.

“You didn’t,” Yuuri said softly, gripping his cup as his blush deepened.

“I…what?” Victor asked, nonplussed. “But…you said…”

“That wasn’t the first time I'd seen you,” Yuuri confessed, turning to cast those wide amber eyes in Victor’s direction, his lower lip caught fetchingly between his teeth.

“I…what?”

“You said that already,” Yuuri said teasingly, the ghost of a smile flashing across his beguiling features. Yuuri relinquished his death grip on the coffee cup, ducking beneath the table to shuffle through his supplies. Yuuri reemerged, triumphantly clutching a slim artfolio that he began to feverishly shuffle through. He halted, finally, flipping the folio so that Victor could see a familiar print.

Victor hesitantly reached for the book, hastily glancing at Yuuri for permission. There, in the corner, in silvery ink, was his own signature. The little heart shaped smiley face he’d long ago stopped using…

Victor brushed his fingers over the plastic covering the print, feeling an odd lump in his throat.

“I was sad when you stopped doing the poodle prints,” Yuuri admitted softly. “I saw you at a convention in Rosemont when I was 15. And I knew…I knew that this was what I wanted to do. I still wanted to meet you though…”

Victor swallowed. “How disappointed you must have been in me,” he whispered, his voice thick.

Yuuri shrugged, but covered Victor’s hand with his own. “You didn’t know me. And I didn’t know you, not really. You were someone I put on a pedestal. I didn’t see that you were a person, with problems of your own.”

Victor turned his hand palm up, clutching gratefully at Yuuri fingers. “I didn’t  _ want _ anyone to see that side of me,” he admitted. “I was so determined to prove that I could make it on my own that I pushed away anyone who could see the cracks.”

“You aren’t pushing me away now,” Yuuri pointed out gently.

Victor shook his head fervently. “No. I’m not.”

“If you had another chance to make a first impression…what would you say?” Yuuri asked, his eyes sparkling, fingers still entwined with Victor’s own.

Victor smiled. “I’d say…I’d say  _ ‘Hello! My name is Victor. I think your work is lovely!” _

Yuuri’s mouth twitched in amusement, but his voice was steady as he played along. “Hello, Victor. I’m Yuuri. It’s nice to meet you. I like your art, too.”

Victor’s smile broadened. “What a lovely coincidence, Yuu~uuri,” he purred, his thumb caressing Yuuri’s knuckles. “Would you care to join me for dinner this evening? I’d very much like to get to know you better.”

Yuuri’s answering smile was the loveliest piece of art Victor had ever seen.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank all of you lovelies for hanging with me on this journey! We're coming up on the final couple chapters now!  
For those of you who've been asking about the puppy, his name is Sebastian and he is a 10 week old red standard poodle named Sebastian! If you're want to follow along with all the photos of him, I post them to my Twitter account, @SongbirdsaraW
> 
> Up Next: Victor experience the Katsuki family in all their warmth and glory. It's Thanksgiving and Yuuri's bday!


	9. Family Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor and Yuuri enjoy some quality time with the Katsuki family.  
Meet Yuuri's roommates!  
Christmas plans

**Late November, 2016, Detroit**

“Yuuri, dear, why don’t you go sit in the living room to wait for your guest?”

Yuuri glanced up, startled by his mother’s voice. The mug he’d been cleaning slipped out of his hands, splashing down into the soapy water. He fished it back out, only for Hiroko to gently remove it from his grasp.

“You’ve been washing the same mug for ten minutes, Yuuri,” Hiroko said with a smile. “Are you that nervous about us meeting your boyfriend? You’ve never brought anyone home before…”

“What? I…no! No, no, we’re not, he’s not…” Yuuri felt himself flushing as his mother watched him with dancing eyes. “We haven’t really…talked about…th-the  _ boyfriend _ thing…” he finished lamely.

Hiroko dried the mug with a practiced twist of her hands, settling it on the counter before reaching up to cup Yuuri’s cheeks. “Oh, my dear son. This boy is spending the holiday with you. Holidays are for family. For the people you care about. Maybe you haven’t spoken the words, but it is clear how what you two mean to each other.” She patted his cheek once, fondly. “Mothers know these things, Yuuri.”

Yuuri leaned down to hug his mother. “Thanks, Mama. I’m, ah, just going to go sit in the living room now…”

He could hear Hiroko chuckling softly as he fled.

***

Victor stared up at the entrance to the Katsuki family’s B&B, oblivious to the light snowfall swirling around him. Somehow, this felt different than the last time he’d visited – had it really only been a few short weeks ago? For one thing, Makkachin was by his side, her heavy breaths white in the chill air. For another…

“Victor?”

Yuuri. Yuuri, whom he’d taken to dinner. Yuuri, who had kissed him breathless in the hot tub the last night he’d stayed here. Yuuri, who had invited him to spend Thanksgiving here, with his family…

“Yuuri!” Victor finally managed to call out in greeting. Makka  _ borfed _ joyfully at Victor’s side, the only warning Victor had before the poodle pulled her leash free from his grasp, bounding in Yuuri’s direction. Victor winced as his dog leapt up on Yuuri’s chest, sending the artist crashing to the ground. Victor abandoned his bag, dashing forward to drag his dog off of his… _ boyfriend? _

“She looks so much like Vicchan,” Yuuri giggled in between Makka’s enthusiastic licks. “But she’s a  _ lot _ bigger!”

Victor couldn’t help smiling down at the tableau before him. “Sorry about that. Seems my dog likes you as much as I do.” He offered his hand to help Yuuri back to his feet, his heart stuttering a bit at the blinding smile that Yuuri flashed up in his direction. Victor forced himself to concentrate, pulling Yuuri up a little too forcefully, although he couldn’t complain at the feel of Yuuri’s hands on his chest as he stumbled against him.

“Hi there, you,” he said softly.

“Um, hi…” Yuuri said softly, his hands clenching unconsciously on Victor’s chest. A light flush colored the younger man’s high cheekbones and Victor’s fingers itched for his pastels. Their relationship may have had a rocky start, but for the first time in years, Victor felt inspired to create for the simple pleasure of making something beautiful. Not that he could hope to do justice to the loveliness of the man before him…

“Um…Victor…”

“Vitya,” Victor breathed, still admiring the pretty sight. “I…you should call me Vitya. Please?”

Yuuri’s blush intensified. “Right. Okay. Um, Vitya? You’re…you’re staring.”

Victor shook his head, recalling himself. “Can you really blame me? You’re lovely,  _ solnyshko,” _ he purred.

“I don’t know about  _ that _ ,” Yuuri muttered under his breath. “We should go inside. Mom’s finishing lunch…”

Victor beamed. “Then we should go enjoy it, hmm?”

Yuuri shook his head, amusement warring with embarrassment as he reached out to pick up the duffel bag Victor had dropped to the sidewalk. Makkachin bounced cheerfully at their sides as the men made their way to the family entrance to the B&B, Yuuri prattling nervously about the plans for the long weekend. After they’d removed their shoes, Victor took hold of Yuuri’s shoulders, forcing him to halt in his running commentary.

“Breathe, Yuuri. It’s just me,” he said firmly.

“That’s kind of the problem,” Yuuri replied with a little pout, not meeting Victor’s eyes. Before Victor’s heart could finish sinking, Yuuri continued. “I  _ really _ like you…”

Victor felt himself grinning broadly. “I’m  _ very _ glad to hear that, darling.” He released one of Yuuri’s shoulders, cupping his chin instead and gently forcing the amber-brown eyes up to meet his own. “Because I  _ really  _ like you, too.”

Victor dipped his head slowly, allowing Yuuri the chance to duck away if he chose.

Yuuri didn’t.

Long, slow moments passed as Victor savored the gentle press of lips. He tilted his head, moving to deepen the kiss slightly, shivering a bit as he felt Yuuri respond by pressing closer and parting his lips. A light flick of tongue…

“I’d ask if I’m interrupting, but I  _ do _ actually have  _ eyes _ ,” came a dry voice and the men broke apart, startled.

Mari Katsuki stood, leaning against the doorframe leading to the living area, the wry twist to her mouth speaking volumes. At her feet, Makkachin and Vicchan were sniffing at each other, tails wagging ecstatically.

“ _ Nee-chan! _ ” Yuuri screeched, stumbling out of Victor’s grasp.

Mari’s smirk widened. “Time for puppies to have their lunch,” she half-singsonged as she turned to lead the way to the kitchen, the dogs following eagerly at her heels. To Victor’s surprise, Yuuri groaned at her words.

“C’mon, she’ll only get worse if we take too long to get to the table,” Yuuri said with a sigh.

Bemused, Victor tangled his fingers with Yuuri’s, allowing himself to be led down the hall and into the private dining room where Yuuri’s parents were fussing over a loaded table.

“Yuuri! Vicchan!” Yuuri’s mother, Hiroko, called in greeting. Her husband Toshiya smiled up from where he was pouring glasses of something that looked suspiciously like beer.

Before Victor could ask about the odd greeting, Mari was at the table, sipping at her glass. “Beer, dad? Really? What sort of message are we sending Yuuri’s boyfriend, allowing alcohol with minors present?” Her teasing tone belied the words and Victor grinned.

“I’ll be 20 in less than a week,” Yuuri growled, snagging his beer from the table and drinking it defiantly.

Mari rolled her eyes. “Because that’s definitely the same as  _ actually _ 21.”

Hiroko shook her head, reaching her hand up to tousle her taller son’s hair. “American drinking ages are silly.”

“Pretty sure the drinking age in Japan is 20, mom,” Mari retorted.

Toshiya patted the low cushioned seats, inviting the rest of the group to join him. “Hush now, Mari. I don’t recall you complaining when  _ you _ were 19 and we allowed you to drink at family meals. I’d prefer our Yuuri to know he has a safe place to drink, rather than sneaking alcohol from his friends.”

Victor gently kicked Yuuri’s foot under the table, flashing him a cheeky, conspiratorial wink. Yuuri stifled his burst of laughter, squeezing Victor’s hand where it was still tangled with his.

“An admirable policy,” Victor said diplomatically, earning a snort of derision from Mari’s direction.

Hiroko tutted, then placed a tray of food out on the table. “We’ll do American Thanksgiving tomorrow, but since Vicchan and Yuuri have to leave before Yuuri’s birthday, we’re having his favorite today,” she said fondly, leaning down to Yuuri’s head. To Victor’s immense surprise, she gave his own head an equally fond pat before settling down across the table.

Victor glanced over, pleased to see Yuuri’s delighted grin as he pulled a plate close. “Thanks, Mom,” Yuuri enthused, squirming happily in anticipation. “It’s katsudon,” Yuuri leaned over to explain. “Pork cutlet, rice, eggs, onion and pure deliciousness.”

“Wow, amazing!” Victor exclaimed.

Hiroko beamed as the family dug into their meal. “It’s only for special occasions, but we don’t get to see our Yuuri as much now that he’s in school. He works so hard,” she said, a hint of a sigh in her voice.

Victor felt a lump in his throat at the warmth of the family gathering. Not noticing, Toshiya cleared his throat. “It’s good of you to take the time to visit during the holiday, Victor, I’m sure you must be missing your own family gathering to be here.”

Victor hunched his shoulder self-consciously. “Ah, well…Thank you for having me. There’s really nowhere I’d rather be,” he prevaricated lightly, focusing on the delicious food before him as he ignored Yuuri’s curious glance.

***

Yuuri tracked Victor down in the hot tub later, dipping his toes in before settling close to Victor’s side. “Everything okay?” he asked. He’d noticed Victor withdrawing during lunch but couldn’t put his finger on what had caused Victor’s suddenly somber mood.

“I’m fine, Yuuri,” Victor replied quietly, leaning down to press a kiss to Yuuri’s forehead. Yuuri nestled his head against Victor’s shoulder, content to wait for Victor to open up.

“You have a lovely family,” Victor finally said, his voice soft in the steamy air.

“Mmmm,” Yuuri hummed in agreement.

“They love you. They  _ support _ you,” Victor continued as Yuuri waited.

“Yes,” Yuuri replied tentatively. “They’re my family. They want me to be happy.” He hesitated, then blustered on. “That’s why they’re so glad to have you here. To meet m-my…my b-boyfriend,” Yuuri said in a rush, tripping on the word he hadn’t yet dared to use out loud.

Victor turned to look more fully down at Yuuri, his pensive expression clearing into ineffable fondness. “I’m very glad to meet them, too. I may not have always shown you the best sides of me, but I promise, I’ll try to be a good boyfriend.”

Yuuri tilted his head back, inviting a soft kiss. “You already are.”

**November 29** **th** **, 2016, Ann Arbor, Michigan**

“Uh, Yuuri?”

Yuuri looked up from the art history notes he’d been trying to focus on, smiling at his roommate. “Hmmm?”

Alex crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Did you maybe forget to tell us something? Something important?”

Yuuri’s eyes widened. “I swear, I meant to buy more creamer when I got out of class, but I completely forgot…”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Um, cool, you can do that later, but I’m talking bigger. Like, maybe the reason Lev is currently clearing the table so the delivery guy can set down the biggest fucking bouquet I’ve seen since my cousin’s wedding?”

Yuuri shot to his feet, practically running past his smirking roommate, sliding to a stop on the linoleum flooring in their tiny eat-in kitchen. Sure enough, Lev was looking slightly nonplussed as he signed a delivery man’s clipboard. There, sitting on the table, was what appeared to be an entire floral shop’s worth of beautifully dyed blue roses,  interspersed with tall sprigs of gladiolus and other flowers.

Yuuri’s jaw dropped. Lev turned to him as the delivery man left, one dark eyebrow raised in query.

“Um, not to be an ass, but do  _ not _ let Ketty see these,” Lev said seriously, though his lips quirked up in a teasing little smile. “No  _ way _ can I afford a bouquet this big.”

“Those…are those for  _ me?” _ Yuuri asked, stepping forward to carefully brush a fingertip across one of the soft petals.

“Well it  _ is _ your birthday and the card’s got your name…” Lev started to reply, stopping when Yuuri darted forward to snatch the envelope from Lev’s hand.

With unsteady hands, Yuuri thumbed open the flap of the envelope, pulling out a little white card with a swirly ‘Happy Birthday’ handwritten above Victor’s name.

And one other thing. He smiled softly down at the heart shaped mouth on the little emoji Victor had drawn.

A low whistle broke his happy reverie and he peered up, startled, to find his roommates staring at him.

“Um, they’re…a birthday gift?” Yuuri offered tentatively.

“Yeah, kinda figured that out, Katsuki,” Alex snorted. He and Lev exchanged a glance, their expressions amused.

“Ah…sorry, I need to call him…say thank you…” Yuuri stammered, clutching the flowers to his chest as he fumbled for his phone on his way to his bedroom, ignoring the teasing jibes his roommates tossed at his retreating form.

Victor answered on the first ring, Yuuri’s name dripping from the speaker in that heart-melting way that never failed to send a warm shiver down Yuuri’s spine.

“Ah…Vitya…h-hi, I…”

“Did you get my flowers,  _ solnyshko _ ?” Victor asked, his voice warm and teasing.

“I  _ did _ . Vitya, they’re…they’re so beautiful,” Yuuri gushed.

“You deserve beautiful things,” Victor averred.

Yuuri could feel himself blushing, but forced out the words anyway. “Well…I don’t know about that but…I…I have  _ you _ , so I can’t imagine anything more beautiful.”

A long silence stretched out and Yuuri began to panic before a little hitching breath echoed down the line.

“You…you think I’m beautiful?” Victor’s voice sounded shaky and wondering.

“I do,” Yuuri replied. “I think you’re  _ wonderful _ . I’m so glad we got a second chance.”

“Oh.” Victor’s voice sounded small and Yuuri wondered why it sounded as if his boyfriend was on the verge of tears. “Oh, Yuuri. Happy birthday, my darling.”

**December 10th, 2016, Chicago**

Victor stood with a groan, the insistent knocking having interrupted the impromptu afternoon nap he’d been enjoying with Makkachin. Padding his way across the chilly hardwood, he cracked the door open, peering out to find Georgi standing in the hall, shoulders slumped. 

“I thought you were at Anya’s cabin in Aspen this weekend?” Victor queried in greeting, surprised to find his oldest friend on his doorstep. Georgi slumped further at the words and Victor held the door open wider in subtle invitation. “Ah. Is this a coffee or a vodka sort of conversation?” Georgi finally looked up, his blue eyes bright with unshed tears. “Right. Vodka then,” Victor answered his own question, already leading the way to the kitchen.

***

A few hours later Victor watched as Georgi climbed unsteadily into the Uber, having finally given into Victor’s refusal to let him drive home. As the taillights sped out of sight, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it out, he allowed himself a small, almost guilty smile at the sight of the caller i.d. 

“Yuuu~uuuri!” he trilled into the phone, slowly climbing the walk up to his apartment as he spoke. 

“Victor, hey,” Yuuri replied softly. 

“I’m surprised you aren’t studying for finals,” Victor mused as he unlocked his door, _ oof _ ing quietly as he caught Makka’s enthusiastic greeting. 

Yuuri sighed. “I know. But I’m bored and I…I…”

Victor waited for a moment, used to Yuuri’s reticence by now. When the silence started to stretch a bit too long, he finally prompted “You…”

“I was just thinking about you,” Yuuri said quietly. Then, softer, “I miss you.”

Victor melted, though he felt a twinge of guilt for feeling so happy when Georgi was in the midst of so much misery. Still… “I miss you, too, darling.”

“Oh,” Yuuri breathed through the line. “That’s…I…that’s good. Oh! I mean, not good that you miss me, but good that…you know…”

Victor chuckled. “I know, Yuuri. Did you get the character sketches I e-mailed?”

Yuuri’s tone brightened. “I did! I loved them! I really think we can work with those designs!”

The pair chattered happily for a few more minutes as Victor puttered around his apartment, setting out Makkachin’s dinner and tucking away a few stray dishes. Finally, though, Yuuri got around to the real reason for his call. 

“Um, Vic…Vitya…I…I was thinking…my parents are visiting family over the holiday, so it’s just Mari and I…and…and I know you’re coming up for New Year’s, but…well, it’s your birthday and it’s not that long of a drive if your family doesn’t mind and I was thinking…”

“You don’t want to come for my family Christmas,” Victor blurted out without thinking. He winced, but the words were already past his lips. Yuuri was silent and Victor hastened to recover. “It’s just…it’s so boring, Yuuri. I don’t even want to be there, it’s just going to be my dad and grandpa telling old family stories while my mom and all my aunts gossip in the kitchen. And my cousins, they’re…it’s not…”

“I…okay…”

Victor felt a stab of guilt at his deception but continued on blithely. “Why don’t I head up a couple days early? We can do a late birthday if you want…”

“Oh. Right. That’s…that’s fine,” Yuuri said slowly. “I…I understand…”

Their goodbyes were stilted and soon Victor was left in his near-silent apartment, Makka’s brisk chewing the only sound to interrupt his turmoil. He hoped Yuuri would forgive him, even if the other artist wouldn’t understand. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to introduce Yuuri to his family as his boyfriend, it wasn’t that he was ashamed of Yuuri. He could  _ never _ be ashamed of Yuuri...

…

Victor just couldn’t bear the thought of Yuuri’s disappointment when Yuuri realized that Victor’s family was ashamed of  _ him _ .

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri's roommates are borrowed from the fabulous fic "The Shortest Days" by my good friend Magrathea! 
> 
> Up Next:   
Break ups.   
Family time.   
A rescue.


	10. Meet the Parents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Nikiforov family bonding time!   
That goes... about as well as you might expect.  
And somehow poor Yuuri gets dragged into the middle of it.

**December 16** **th** **, 2016, Chicago**

“Did you know that December 11 th is the most common day for people to break up?”

Victor glanced up from his ramen, peering at Georgi with concern. “No,” he said slowly, “I did not know that.”

Georgi sighed, his chopsticks dropping to his bowl. “I always knew Anya was exceptional,” he said morosely.

Victor tried to hide his grimace behind his spoon. “Ah…Georgi…”

Georgi pounded back his small glass of sake, reaching to snag the carafe from the center of the table. “She could have waited another day. Been like all those others. But she broke up with me on the  _ 10 _ _ th _ . That  _ means _ something, Victor.”

“I don’t…”

“She must have known. My Anya had enough respect for me to not make me just a statistic.”

This time, Victor couldn’t control his wince. “Georgi, are you…are you okay? I know this is a bad time of year for this to happen…”

Georgi shrugged, sipping more slowly. “Is there ever really a  _ good _ time for a breakup?” he asked rhetorically, sounding slightly more grounded. “I have to focus on whatever positives I can find,” he added with a shrug before his countenance brightened. “Besides, convention season will start up again soon. I have some ideas for cosplays that she won’t be able to resist. There’s that figure skating anime that Anya really loved…”

Victor sighed, reaching for his own glass of sake. “Georgi, Anya told me she’s taking a break from shows…”

Georgi slumped. “Ah. I suppose the world where we first met must seem painful to her now…”

Victor shook his head, refraining from pointing out to his friend that Anya had told him she’d enrolled in an MBA program.

“I’ll be stag for your parents’ party,” Georgi added, a non-sequitur that left Victor confused for a moment. “My mom keeps trying to convince me to take one of her work friends’ daughters, but my heart is still taken.”

“Well, you can keep me company while I hide, then,” Victor said as he picked his chopsticks back up to continue eating.

“As long as your new darling doesn’t mind me third-wheeling,” Georgi replied.

Victor hunched his shoulders, remembering Yuuri’s disappointed voice when Victor had shrugged off his offer to join him for his birthday. “Yuuri’s not coming,” he said flatly, hoping to discourage any questions. He knew it was a fruitless endeavor as soon as the words left his mouth.

Georgi’s face was a picture of sympathy as he patted Victor’s shoulders. “Family obligations in Detroit?” he asked. Victor shrugged. “Holiday birthdays are rough.”

Victor was tempted to let Georgi’s misunderstanding slide but…the convention world was small. Inevitably Yuuri and Georgi would interact, and the wrong question would too easily give away his deception.

“I didn’t invite him,” Victor admitted after a long moment. He could feel Georgi’s eyes on him as he slouched over his dinner.”

“Victor,” Georgi said quietly. Victor ignored him, still focusing on the food. “Vitya,” Georgi said more pointedly. Victor glanced up guiltily. “He offered, didn’t he?”

Victor shrugged.

“But…” Georgi said, inviting Victor to elaborate.

Victor set his chopsticks down with a snap. “You  _ know _ what my parents are like,” he grated out.

Georgi steepled his hands beneath his chin, Anya forgotten as he focused on Victor. “Your parents are jackasses,” he said matter-of-factly. Victor snorted in agreement. “But,” Georgi continued, “it’s  _ your _ party, too. You told me they don’t care about you being gay.” Georgi’s voice was gentle as he probed at the edges of Victor’s wounds. “So, it’s not about him being a guy…” Victor couldn’t bring himself to meet Georgi’s eyes, instead focusing on the little cup of sake as he swirled it around.

“No,” Georgi said musingly. “Let me guess. You’re keeping him at arm’s length. Why? You  _ like  _ him…” 

Victor slumped further, ignoring proper restaurant etiquette as he settled his head on the smooth wood of the table. Dimly, he could hear Georgi conferring with the server, then the other man went oddly silent for a long moment. After a while, the server returned, depositing a pair of drinks on the table. Victor glanced up through his fringe to find Georgi watching him patiently. He rolled his head, spying the stemmed glass.

“Martinis?”

Georgi’s mouth twitched. “Vodka conversation, I’m thinking.”

Victor sat back up, reaching for the glass and toasting his friend quietly. Georgi settled against the back of the booth, eyes contemplative as he waited for Victor to find his words.

“I do like him,” Victor finally said into the expectant silence. “More than just  _ like _ him, Georgi. It’s only been a couple months but…it’s like he’s this…this missing piece of me…like I’d do anything to keep him by my side…”

Georgi sipped at his martini. “But you aren’t being honest with him, are you?”

Victor stared down at the table, feeling the burn of shame rising in his cheeks. “You don’t…Georgi, his family  _ adores _ him. They’re so…his parents, his sister…they’re all so  _ proud _ of him…”

Georgi reached out, his hand resting on top of Victor’s for a moment. “Victor, I have known you for many years. You are a  _ good _ person. You are  _ talented. _ You are successful…”

Victor snorted derisively, but Georgi’s eyes hardened as he continued.

“No. I won’t let you do that. You aren’t even 24, you have a degree, no debt, your own place. Victor, that  _ is _ success. That your parents refuse to see that? That is on  _ them _ , not 

you.”

Victor blinked through the burn of sudden tears. “Still…”

“You’re afraid to knock yourself off of that pedestal Katsuki’s got you on,” Georgi said shrewdly. “You’re scared to let him see that you’re only human.”

Victor wanted to deny Georgi’s words. But…he’d already screwed up  _ so _ badly with Yuuri. He had a second chance; how could he risk falling from the precarious perch that’d he’d barely reclaimed? If Yuuri knew how flawed he really was…

“I appreciate it Georgi. But trust me, Yuuri doesn’t need to deal with a Nikiforov family gathering.”

**December 19** **th** **, 2016, Detroit**

A sharp toe nudged Yuuri’s thigh and he looked up, frowning, from his warm cocoon under the  _ kotatsu _ .

“Are you going to spend your entire break moping around?” Mari said, her arms crossed as she smirked down at him. “Or just until your boyfriend shows up? Because I have friends coming over and I need to know if you’re going to be a total gremlin the whole time or…”

“I’m not a gremlin,” Yuuri groused.

Mari chuckled. “Nah, you like water too much to be a gremlin. More like some dour little house elf,” she teased. Yuuri rolled his eyes as Mari plopped down beside him.

“C’mon, little brother. You’re mopier than normal. Is this some sort of moody artist thing I should know about?” She poked at his forehead, smoothing out the frown lines before Yuuri batted her hand away.

“I’m not moping,” he grumbled, earning an unimpressed snort from his sister.

“Right,” she said flatly. “Dammit, Yuuri, go call your boyfriend or something. You look like someone kicked Vicchan.” She rose back to her feet, ruffling his hair before walking away.

Yuuri stuck his tongue out at her retreating back but pulled out his phone anyway. His thumb hovered for a long moment over Victor’s name before he set the phone back down with a sigh. Victor had been… _ weird _ …ever since Yuuri had offered to come down to Chicago for Victor’s birthday. Yeah, it was Christmas, too, but…

It had felt like Victor didn’t want him around his family.

Yuuri had barely made it through his finals, his anxious mind spinning dire excuses. Maybe Victor didn’t want to be embarrassed by his college student boyfriend…maybe Victor’s family didn’t know he was gay…maybe Yuuri was just a fling and Victor’s  _ real _ boyfriend would be there and Victor didn’t want the two of them meeting and…

***bzzBzzBZZzzzz***

Yuuri jumped, startled, as his text notification went off. An unfamiliar number with a Chicago area code popped up on the screen and he thumbed open the message, his forehead crinkling in confusion.

**From (312)***-****: You care about Victor, right?**

Yuuri froze, then hesitantly tapped out a reply.

**To (312)***-****: Who is this?**

**From (312)***-****: Georgi Popovich.**

**From (312)***-****: You probably don’t remember me. I got your number from Chris.**

**From (312)***-**** Giacometti.**

**From (312)***-****: I’m a friend of Victor’s.**

Yuuri sat back, staring down at the texts. Why was a friend of Victor’s texting him? Unless…

**To (312)***-****: I know who you are. The cosplayer.**

**To (312)***-****: Is Victor okay? Did something happen????**

Yuuri’s ringtone sang out after a moment and, hesitantly, he answered.

“Hello?”

**December 24th, 2016**

“Goodness, you’re a good-looking boy. Bet you fill out a suit nicely. Give your Auntie a kiss.”

Victor sighed, then turned to buss the woman’s cheek. “Aunt” Tiffany was a recent addition to the family, having married his Uncle Ivan only a few months after his divorce had gone through last winter. She was only a few years older than Victor so the ‘boy’ rankled a bit. Nor was he terribly fond of the way she was squeezing his bicep. He moved out of her grasp, smiling widely to reduce the sting.

She pouted a bit but, to Victor’s disappointment, didn’t take the hint. Her eyes flicked up and down his form appraisingly as she sipped at what was clearly not her first glass of wine. “Well, you don’t  _ look _ like an artist, anyway. The way your father goes on, I’d thought you’d turned into some cellar-dwelling little troglodyte!” Her tinkling little laugh grated on Victor’s already frayed nerves and he hid his grimace behind his own glass.

“Believe it or not, Auntie, artists are just like anybody else.”

Tiffany tittered again, waving her hand in a perfunctory apology. “Oh, I know, I know, you just hear all the jokes and then there’s all the memes…” 

Victor rolled his eyes, desperately searching for a way out of this corner of the room. 

“…Besides, you hear artist and you just think ‘oh, works at McDonalds’.” 

Victor vision blurred as he clenched the wine stem. “Not that there’s anything _wrong_ with working at McDonalds, but I do actually make a living with my job. Not that you have any actual idea what that entails.”

Tiffany blinked in surprise at the obvious vitriol in his voice. “Well, there’s no need to be rude,” she sniffed. “I was trying to pay you a compliment. I guess artists really are sensitive.”

“Tiffany, my dear, is everything alright? Vanya was looking for you…”

Dmitri. Lovely. The last thing Victor needed was his father swanning into this train wreck of a conversation.

Tiffany giggled again and Victor felt a headache forming somewhere about his left eyebrow. 

“Oh, it’s fine, fine. Victor and I were talking, but I’m afraid I’ve upset him. It’s no worry, you know how kids are.” She waved her hand then headed off, no doubt in search of more wine. Victor took a sip of his own, trying to ignore his father’s disgruntled glare. It burned into the back of his neck, finally pulling out an answering huff of frustration.

“I didn’t do anything, Dad. I was minding my own business and she…”

“Vitya, this is a time for family. If you cannot be polite under my roof…”

“What? You’ll ask me to leave? It’s not like it’d be the first time I wasn’t welcome here…” 

Victor regretted the bitter outburst the moment it escaped his lips. Why was it that he always seemed to revert to a teenager when his father was around?

Dmitri pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t be difficult, Vitya. Your mother won’t appreciate being embarrassed in front of the family.”

Victor held back the retort that automatically formed in his throat, opting instead to glance around the living room. His mother wasn’t even there. As he’d predicted to Yuuri, she’d retreated to the kitchen with her sisters early in the evening. 

It was the Nikiforovs that held sway in the main room; tall, broad-shouldered men interspersed with sparkling spouses and a scattering of family friends. He could see Tiffany sidling up to his Uncle Ivan, effortlessly inserting herself into a ring of conversation. He felt a faint flash of envy at how easily the woman made herself at home; he’d spent 18 years in this house and had never felt half as comfortable as she seemed to be. 

At his side, his father sighed loudly. “I’m not sure why you came if you’re going to stand in a corner and glower the whole evening. You should be interacting with your family. It’s Christmas.”

Victor couldn’t hold his tongue this time. “Funny how I’m only a member of this family when it’s convenient for you.”

Dmitri bristled. “You are my son, whether you like it or not. You act like I’m the villain in your story when all I have ever wanted for you was a good life.”

Victor’s temper snapped. “I  _ have _ a good life. I’d have a better one if the people that were supposed to love me unconditionally actually cared enough to give a damn that all I have ever done is follow the path that made me happy! I’m sorry I’m not a lawyer or a doctor but goddammit, Dad, I am not a failure! Stop treating me like one!”

“Don’t you dare raise your voice to me! Your lack of gratitude for…”

“For what?” Victor slammed his glass onto the end table, his hands shaking. “For raising the child that you brought into this world? That’s literally the job of any parent. The minute I graduated I took care of everything myself! Do you know or care how hard I worked to get to where I am? How many times I skipped meals so I could afford the education you promised and then denied me? I’ve made a life for myself. A good one. And I did it in spite of you, not because of you.”

“Vitya…”

Victor froze as the familiar voice broke through the crimson haze of his anguished rage. The room had gone quiet, too many eyes on him as he looked away from his father. His mother, tears sparkling in her eyes. Tiffany, her jaw slack as she stared. 

And beyond them, past the loose ring of relations.

Georgi, looking stunned.

And at his side, face pale and eyes wide…

“Yuuri?”

***** EARLIER*****

Yuuri had long since moved on from second thoughts into third and fourth thoughts territory. Victor hadn’t invited him. He shouldn’t be here, no matter what Georgi had said. He didn’t even  _ know _ Georgi Popovich, what had he been thinking, this was a terrible mistake, Vitya was going to break up with him and he was ruining everything and…

“Hey. Katsuki.”

Yuuri blinked at the words, Georgi’s voice low with concern.

“Ummm… yeah?”

Georgi glanced at him, his features highlighted in the glow of the stoplight.

“This…this is okay, right? I mean, Vit…Victor didn’t really seem like he wanted me to come…”

Georgi sighed. “Trust me, Katsuki, Victor wants you there, he just doesn’t know how to get out of his own head enough to  _ ask _ .”

Yuuri bit his lip. “I don’t…”

“He doesn’t talk about his family with you, does he?” Georgi asked, looking straight ahead as he drove.

“I…no, I guess he hasn’t, really,” Yuuri admitted.

“No matter what you’re thinking, I promise it’s not because he doesn’t care about you. He’s just scared. He hasn’t had the easiest go of it, no matter how smooth and successful  he might seem now. I’m not going to let him lose out on his chance at love because he’s scared of letting you see the real him.” Georgi’s voice was firm, sincerity dripping from every word.

Yuuri still wasn’t convinced. He’d questioned Georgi’s invitation the entire drive down from Detroit and the questions still swirled in his mind.

“I don’t want him to be upset that I’m butting in where I’m not wanted,” Yuuri admitted, his voice small even in the enclosed space.

“Butt in, Katsuki. Victor needs  _ someone _ to care enough to butt in,” Georgi said earnestly.

“You care enough to butt in,” Yuuri pointed out.

Georgi chuckled dryly. “Yeah, I do. Victor and I go way back, but he’s lonely. He needs something I can’t give him, something I think maybe only you can.”

Yuuri blushed, reading insinuation into the seemingly innocent words.

Georgi laughed more broadly this time, clearly having picked up on Yuuri’s embarrassment. “Yeah, okay, he needs  _ that _ , too. But you…I think you understand him. Maybe not what he’s been through, but…the life he leads, the world he exists in… You two have the same sort of soul, I think.” Then, softer, “I envy that.”

Yuuri didn’t know how to respond, choosing to stare blankly at the large brownstones passing slowly by the window, elaborate Christmas lights illuminating the tree-lined street.

“Ah. Here we go. Buckle up, Katsuki, I can’t promise this’ll be an easy ride.”

They made their way inside, finding a crowd of well-dressed middle-aged folk interspersed with a scant handful of people their own age. Victor’s family, Yuuri surmised, already craning his neck for a sight of his boyfriend. Georgi had promised that he was on the family’s invite and that a plus-one was always included, but he still felt out of place. Disappointed when he didn’t see Victor, Yuuri switched to a perusal of the décor, feeling something akin to unease settling into his stomach.

“Georgi,” he said quietly. “You said this was Victor’s childhood home, right?” Georgi nodded absent-mindedly, plucking a glass of wine off of a side-table. Yuuri shook his head, returning to his contemplation of the room. The few photos on the wall showed a much younger Victor flanked by an attractive middle-aged couple. There was a framed pair of diplomas, though neither bore Victor’s name. Some generic black and white landscape photography.

Nothing, in short, that bore the stamp of the Victor he knew.

It left him with an odd feeling, and he slunk a bit closer to Georgi, shaking his head when the other man offered a glass of wine.

“Why am I here?” he asked quietly, finally giving voice to the question that he hadn’t quite managed to ask.

“Because I’m invited every year and guests get a plus-one,” Georgi reiterated matter-of-factly, his blue eyes scanning the room.

“That’s not a real answer,” Yuuri replied.

Georgi sighed. “Because my best friend adores you, Yuuri. He  _ needs _ you here, whether he knows it or not. He talks about you, you know. A lot. About your family, too. How proud they are of you, how supportive they are.” He stopped, reaching out a hand to halt Yuuri’s slow progress through the room. “Not everybody has that,” he said seriously. “ _ Victor… _ he needs someone to be proud of him.”

Georgi dropped his hand, his eyes suddenly latching onto a pair of tall, broad-shouldered men in the corner. A crowd had gathered around the pair and Georgi’s jaw twitched as he watched. He turned, something fierce burning in his face. “He needs  _ you _ to be proud of him.”

Yuuri opened his mouth to protest that  _ of course _ he was proud of Victor, how could anyone  _ not _ be proud of that fierce, burning talent? But Georgi was moving forward again and Yuuri trailed in his wake. They halted at the perimeter of the crowd, close enough to hear the terse conversation. Victor’s voice was louder than Yuuri had ever heard it and it shook with emotions that Yuuri was almost afraid to grasp. The older man, Victor’s father, judging by the similarity of their jaws and postures, snapped out a response and now Yuuri was sure that it was hurt causing that quaver in Victor,  _ his _ Vitya’s voice.

He couldn’t help stepping forward, his hand out as he spoke.

“Vitya…”

Victor spun, shock and anguish melding in his handsome features as he glanced around, his eyes immediately latching onto Yuuri.

“Yuuri?”

Victor’s voice was softer now, but Yuuri stepped back anyway. He shouldn’t be here, this wasn’t something Victor would have wanted him to see… Georgi was behind him, cutting off his retreat as Victor moved forward.

The older man settled a heavy hand on Victor’s shoulder, his features suddenly settling into what was surely feigned affability. “Ah, Mr. Popovich. I hadn’t realized you were bringing a… _ friend _ ,” the man said through a forced grin. “I was expecting to see your Anya.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri saw Georgi flinch.

The drama apparently over, the rest of the crowd broke up into chattering knots. A silver-blond woman with Victor’s eyes stepped in, fitting herself under the older man’s arm. Victor hovered behind them, his eyes still scanning Yuuri’s face as if searching for something.

“Georgi, dear, it’s always so lovely to see you,” the woman was saying, extending a delicate hand in Georgi’s direction. “Who is your charming friend?”

Georgi looked torn; now that the moment had arrived, he was clearly not sure how to introduce Yuuri.

For his part, Yuuri felt a shiver of fearful anticipation. Now that the moment had arrived, would Victor even acknowledge his relationship with Yuuri? Were his parents not aware of his preferences? It would certainly explain the reticence…

Had Yuuri ruined  _ everything _ by coming here today?

All he’d wanted was to be there for the man he… the man he…

“Mama, Papa, I want you to meet Yuuri Katsuki,” Victor said firmly, stepping to Yuuri’s side. The look he gave Yuuri was longing but something like anguish still twisted behind his sea-blue eyes. Then the moment passed, and he was looking resolutely toward his parents again, Yuuri’s hand in his, Georgi’s hand on his shoulder in silent support when Victor finally spoke again.

“My boyfriend.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got away from me a bit, I really couldn't end things here, so there's more to come!  
Happy New Year, YOI Fam!!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Nikiforov Christmas Party continues to go swimmingly.
> 
> Mari's more than a little bit amused at her brother's sudden popularity.
> 
> CW: Casual racism

“You could have warned us you were bringing someone home, Vitya,” Vasalisa murmured. “The house is a dreadful mess; I can’t imagine the impression we’re making!” She shook her head in dismay, absently collecting empty glasses from the sideboard.

_Victor_ could imagine the impression the Nikiforov family had made.

Only it had nothing to do with the state of the house.

“It’s a party, Mama. I’m pretty sure Yuuri understands plates and dirty glasses lying about,” he muttered, glancing over to where Yuuri had been roped into a conversation with some of his cousins, Georgi hovering in the background.

“He looks  _ very _ young, dear,” Vasalisa continued as if Victor hadn’t spoken.

“He’s 21,” Victor replied in resignation. Clearly, they were just going to ignore the scene that Yuuri had witnessed.

“Ah,” Vasalisa murmured. “A college boy then?”

Victor nodded, accepting the stack of plates his mother handed him, his attention still drifting over to Yuuri. As if sensing Victor’s scrutiny, Yuuri scratched the back of his head, then turned, brown eyes flashing almost red under the strands of holiday lights as he caught Victor’s gaze.

Victor turned back to his mother hastily. He knew he was avoiding Yuuri, knew he couldn’t do it forever if he wanted Yuuri to remain his boyfriend, but…

“Pre-med?” Vasalisa said.

Victor blinked in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh, or chemistry maybe?” his mother continued.

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, I’m sure I’m making assumptions, but you always hear about Asian mothers and their expectations.” She waved her hand vaguely, letting out a soft little titter as if she’d made some profoundly amusing statement.

Great. Just what he wanted piled on top of everything else: a healthy dose of casual racism.

“He’s a sequential arts major, Mama,” he replied flatly.

“Oh, that’s…”

“Comic books,” Victor continued somewhat ruthlessly. “We’re actually working on a project together.”

Vasalisa’s lips pulled down in a little moue of disappointment. “Oh. How…progressive.”

Victor rolled his eyes. “You do realize that comic books are very popular now, right? Even for adults?”

His mother waved her hand again, a dismissive little gesture that set Victor’s blood boiling. “Oh, yes, yes, I know, all those superhero films are  _ so  _ popular. I just worry that the bubble will burst and you…all of you artist types, I mean, are going to struggle with nothing to fall back on. You know, your uncle Ivan’s looking for an intern, you could take your LSATs, do law school while working for Vanya… Vitya, you were always so bright in school…”

“Mama, please, I have no intention of working for Uncle Vanya,” he interrupted brusquely. “Besides, he’s gone through a half dozen interns in the last couple years.”

Vasalisa grimaced in frustration. “Vitya, I just worry about this hobby of yours…”

“What’s a hobby?”

Victor closed his eyes. Yuuri’s ability to overhear the most mortifying conversations was almost uncanny.

Vasalisa beamed. “Yuuri, dear! Can I get you anything? Perrier? Wine? A beer maybe? I know Vitya likes those microbrews, I think I have some in the fridge…”

“I’m fine for now, thank you, ma’am,” Yuuri answered politely, his eyes lingering on Victor’s face as if he knew something was wrong.

“Oh, well then, I’m sure you won’t mind if I just top myself off then,” Vasalisa said with a nervous little giggle as she refilled her wine glass. Yuuri shrugged, stepping closer to Victor, an inquisitive look on his face as he looked between mother and son. Victor grasped for Yuuri’s hand, gripping it like a lifeline.

“So, where is it you’re from, dear?”

Yuuri blinked owlishly at the question. “Oh. Um, well, my family’s in Detroit but I go to school in Ann Arbor. Stamps. I mean, um, University of Michigan?”

Vasalisa waved her hand vaguely. “Oh, goodness, no, no. I mean, originally?”

Victor felt the blood draining from his face. This night could not possibly get any worse. Yuuri’s hand tightened in his grip and he glanced at his boyfriend. Yuuri’s eyes had narrowed slightly, but he kept his voice light as he replied.

“Oh, well, I was born in Rochester Hills, but we moved to Detroit before I started school.” He let go of Victor’s hand and brushed past Vasalisa, snagging a wine glass and pouring for himself. His back was still facing her as he continued. “Though if you’re asking about my  _ ethnicity _ , my parents both immigrated from Japan when they were teenagers. Kyushu, actually.” He turned and raised both glass and elegant brow. “I don’t suppose you’ve been?” he asked nonchalantly.

Victor could have cheered at the sassy response, though he kept his face as blank as he possible, inwardly reveling at his mother’s confused expression. “If you’ll excuse us, mama, I’d like to show Yuuri the backyard.”

“Oh. But Vitya, it’s freezing outside!” Vasalisa protested faintly.

Victor smiled breezily.  _ Falsely. _ “We’ll stay on the patio, the space heaters are on, it’s fine.” He offered Yuuri his hand before practically yanking his boyfriend out of the kitchen and toward the back of the house.

***

Yuuri trailed behind Victor, still clutching tightly to the wine glass in his other hand. Victor moved like a man on a mission, his shoulders tight as he led Yuuri to what was presumably the back patio. Sure enough, he threw open a glass door and tugged Yuuri onto a wooden deck. Victor dropped Yuuri’s hand as he leaned against the railing, breathing heavily.

Yuuri paused long enough to pull the door closed behind him before joining his boyfriend in gazing out over the snow dusted expanse of the yard. Victor pressed their shoulders together but stayed silent, his eyes distant and unfocused. Yuuri sipped the wine, which was quite excellent, though his palate was too untrained to recognize the grape. He rather imagined that it was a few steps above his regular Two-Buck Chuck.

_ And why was he thinking about wine when Victor looked so miserable??? _

Hesitantly, Yuuri cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he offered tentatively. Victor turned, clearly startled.

“Yuuri, sweetheart, what on earth do you have to be sorry about?” Victor asked incredulously. “I should be the one apologizing. I swear, my parents get worse every year…”

“I just… I meant… I’m sorry for coming unannounced. Georgi said it would be fine, but I should have told you and then…”

Victor sighed. “Yuuri, I promise. If I’d warned my parents you were coming,  _ nothing _ would have changed. They’re just…  _ like  _ that.” He smiled, then reached for Yuuri’s glass, stealing a sip. “Huh. The tempranillo. Mama usually waits before breaking that out.”

Yuuri took the glass back, sipping contemplatively. “I have  _ no _ idea what that means, but it’s good.”

Victor grinned wryly. “Not a wine connoisseur?”

Yuuri chuckled. “I’m 21, Vitya.”

Victor’s light blush at the use of his diminutive was evident, even in the dim patio lighting. Steeling himself, Yuuri decided to probe at the wound his boyfriend was clearly nursing.

“They’re the reason you were so…prickly…the first time we talked,” Yuuri said into the still night air. “Your parents, I mean,” he quickly clarified at Victor’s confused expression.

“Ah…I’m not…really sure? I don’t exactly…”

“Remember. Right,” Yuuri interrupted. “You said that mom and dad didn’t pay your bills anymore. But you were still in college…”

Victor’s expression cleared for a moment, before clouding over. “Mmmm. Well, yes. They didn’t exactly approve of my career path. So my college fund went  _ poof _ and…yeah. Doesn’t make up for me being an ass.”

Yuuri leaned against the taller artist. “I told you, you’ve already made up for it. And…Vitya, I’m sorry. That they weren’t supportive. That they  _ aren’t _ supportive.”

Victor shook his head but didn’t pull away. “You’re lucky, you know. Your family…” he trailed off, but Yuuri hummed in agreement anyway. Then Victor sighed. “I spent a lot of time being angry with my parents. But they aren’t going to change and…and there are people in my life that  _ are _ supportive. People that understand me.” He smiled softly, booping Yuuri’s nose affectionately. “I’m very glad to have you in my life, Yuuri Katsuki.

Yuuri moved up onto his tiptoes for a kiss. “Happy early Birthday, Vitya.”

Victor stole another kiss, beaming. “Feeling up to a drive? I think I’d like to spend my actual birthday with people who give a damn.”

**December 25** **th** **, 2016**

Yuuri blinked groggily at the sound of his door creaking open, automatically patting at the nightstand for his glasses. Mari’s amused expression blinked into focus as his sister leaned casually against his door frame.

“Y’know, I  _ thought _ I heard you sneaking in at the ass-crack of dawn,” Mari said dryly, “but I didn’t realize you had company.”

Yuuri flushed, suddenly realizing that Victor was curled up in bed behind him.

And that Georgi was passed out on the futon on his floor.

“Ummm, I can explain?” he replied hesitantly, the statement coming out as a question as his sister shook with silent mirth.

“Yeah, well, two more just showed up to join your little holiday harem, so maybe explain once you greet them?” Mari said with a little snort.

Yuuri scrambled out of bed and hastily joined his sister in the hallway, closing the door as quietly as possible so that Victor and Georgi could continue sleeping. “Who?” he asked, still ignoring his sister’s smirk.

“The hyper one and the perv,” she drawled as she led the way to the front entrance. Sure enough, Phichit and Chris stood just inside the door, looking entirely too awake and self-satisfied for…  _ Oh, shit, it’s nearly noon! _

“We heard the Katsuki B&B was  _ the _ place to be today,” Chris said with an outrageous wink.

Phichit bounced happily at Chris’s side. “Christophe picked me up on his way through Cleveland! What’s the plan?”

Yuuri blinked, feeling wrong footed. “Uhhh?”

Chris took pity on him, stepping forward to tousle his hair. “Georgi texted me. I called Phichit and here we are!”

“We’re having a sleepover!” Phichit crowed in excitement.

“Oh, joy,” Mari muttered. “Were any of you planning to  _ warn _ me? Nevermind,” she answered herself. “Clearly, you weren’t.”

“Uh, sorry,  _ nee-chan _ ,” Yuuri murmured with a wince.

Mari shook her head in exasperated amusement. “Georgi? That’s the one on your floor?”

Yuuri blushed, “Uhhhh…”

“Yuuri! How scandalous!” Phichit mock-gasped, his hand in front of his mouth in feigned shock.

Yuuri was acutely aware of his sweatpants and bedhead as Chris leered at him. “Ugggh, it’s not…Victor was having a really bad time and we just…”

Mari rolled her eyes. “I’m just giving you a hard time, little brother. But seriously, don’t  _ any _ of you have family plans? I hear Christmas is kind of a big deal…”

Chris shrugged. “My parents have plans with friends.”

“I didn’t  _ tell _ my parents, but they’ll understand!” Phichit tossed out with a nervous grin.

“My parents don’t particularly enjoy having me around to remind them of their failures,” Victor’s voice came softly from behind Yuuri and Mari.

Yuuri turned. “Vitya…”

Victor shrugged, his robe slipping down his shoulder as he took in the gathering. Mari watched Victor with a cool gaze for a long moment before seeming to come to some sort of conclusion.

“ _ You _ get to go sort out sleeping arrangements for your guests,” she said sternly, her eyes narrowed in Yuuri’s direction before she turned her steely gaze back to Victor. “And  _ you _ get to come help me with lunch.”

Victor shot a panicked look in Yuuri’s direction but obediently followed Mari toward the kitchen.

“Wow! Is she giving him the shovel talk?” Phichit asked excitedly.

Yuuri sighed heavily. “You know? I honestly have no clue what’s going on anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooooof. It's been... a million years. Seriously. The world has changed in some pretty wild ways since we last checked in with our artist bois...
> 
> Seriously, writing in the midst of quarantine/pandemic/revolution has been a struggle. There's a million things on my mind and sometimes my creativity has suffered because of it. But I'm back to the keyboard and hoping to update more fics soon!!
> 
> I hope you all are healthy and doing as well as you can! If you ever want to chat, feel free to hit me up on twitter at @SongbirdsaraW


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